MR. MONTAGU NAYLOR OF STREATHAM
Whilst John Dene was preparing interminable lists for the Victualling
and Stores Departments of the Admiralty, Department Z. was making
discreet and searching enquiries regarding Mr. Montagu Naylor of
Streatham. Among other things it discovered that he was essentially
English. The atrocities in Belgium and Northern France rendered him
almost speechless with indignation. Wherever he went, and to
whomsoever he met, he proclaimed the German an enemy to civilisation.
It was his one topic of conversation, and in time his friends and
acquaintance came to regard the word "Hun" as a danger signal.
Mr. Naylor had arrived at Streatham towards the end of 1909, coming
from no one knew whither; but according to his own account from
Norwich. He was of independent means, without encumbrances beyond a
wife, a deaf servant, registered as a Swiss, and a particularly
fierce-dispositioned chow, an animal that caused marked irregularity in
the delivery of his milk, newspapers and letters. Sometimes the animal
chose to resent the approach of all comers, and after the postman had
lost a portion of his right trouser-leg, he had decided that whatever
might happen to His Majesty's mails, the postman's calf was sacred.
Thenceforth he never delivered letters when James was at large.
Without participating in the postman's mishap, the paper-boy and
milkman had adopted his tactics. The dustman point-blank refused to
touch the refuse from "The Cedars" unless it were placed on the
pavement, and the gate securely closed.
Sometimes the readings of the electric and gas meters were formally
noted by officials, whose uniform began and ended with their caps;
sometimes they were not. Everything depended upon the geographical
position of James at the moment of the inspector's call.
The baker who supplied Mr. Naylor had, as a result of a complaint from
his man, made a personal call of protest; but he had succeeded only in
losing his temper to Mr. Naylor and the seat of his trousers to James.
Thenceforth "The Cedars" had to seek its bread elsewhere. Incidentally
the master-baker obtained a new pair of trousers at Mr. Naylor's
expense.
Why Mr. Naylor continued to keep James was a puzzle to all the
neighbours, who, knowing him as a champion of the rights of man, votes
for women, the smaller nations, and many other equally uncomfortable
things, were greatly surprised that he should keep a dog that was
clearly of a savage and dangerous disposition.
About Mr. Naylor himself there was nothing of the ferocity of his dog.
He was suave, with a somewhat deprecating manner, a ready, almost
automatic smile, in which his eyes never seemed to join, a sallow
complexion, large round glasses, a big nose and ugly teeth. He had a
thick voice, thick ears and a thick skin--when it so served his purpose.
His love for England was almost alien, and he was never tired of
motoring from one part of the country to another, that is before the
war. His car had been something unique, as in a few seconds it could
be turned into a moderately comfortable sleeping apartment. Thus he
was independent of hotels, or lodgings.
Mrs. Naylor was a woman of negative personality. She looked after the
house, fed James and never asked questions of Mr. Naylor, thus
justifying her existence.
Susan, the maid, was also negative, from her stupid round, moist face
to the shapeless feet that she never seemed to be able to lift from the
floor. She had acquired great dexterity in shuffling out of the way
just before Mr. Naylor appeared. This she seemed to have reduced to a
fine art. If Mr. Naylor were going upstairs and Susan was about to
descend, by the time he was halfway up she would have disappeared as
effectively as if snatched away by some spirit agency. Susan was dumb;
but her sense of sound was extremely acute. It seemed as if, conscious
of her inability to hold her own verbally with her employer, she had
fallen back upon the one alternative, disappearance.
The Naylors were possessed of few friends, although Mr. Naylor had many
acquaintances, the result of the way in which he had identified himself
with local clubs and institutions. It was largely due to him that the
miniature rifle-range had been started. He was one of the governors of
the Cranberry Cottage Hospital. He always subscribed to the annual
Territorial sports, patronised the boy scouts, openly advocated
conscription, and the two-power standard for the Navy. There were
times when Streatham found it almost embarrassing to be possessed of a
patriot in its midst.
Never had a breath of scandal tarnished the fair name of Mr. Montagu
Naylor. He was what a citizen should be and seldom is. When war broke
out his activities became almost bewildering. He joined innumerable
committees, helped to form the volunteers, and encouraged every one and
everything that was likely to make things uncomfortable for the enemy.
Later, he became a member of the local exemption tribunal, and earned
fame by virtue of his clemency. It was he who was instrumental in
obtaining exemption for some of James's most implacable enemies. The
baker, who had lost the whole of his temper and a portion of his
trousers, probably owed his life to the manner in which Mr. Naylor
championed his claim that bread is mightier than the sword.
Before the war the Naylors received twice each month, once their
friends and once their relatives. Never were the two allowed to meet.
"Our friends we make ourselves, our relatives are given to us," Mr.
Naylor had explained with ponderous humour, "I hate to mix the two."
It was noticed that the relatives stayed much longer than the friends,
and some commiseration was felt for the Naylors by their immediate
neighbours.
There had been one curious circumstance in connection with these social
functions. Whenever the friends were invited, James was always in the
front garden, restrained by a chain that allowed of the guests carrying
their calves into the hall with an eighteen inch margin of safety.
When, however, it was the turn of the relatives to seek the hospitality
of "The Cedars," James was never visible. A cynic might have construed
this into indicating that from his relatives Mr. Naylor had
expectations.
Within his own home Mr. Naylor was a changed man. He ruled Mrs.
Naylor, Susan and James with an iron hand. They all fawned upon him,
vainly inviting the smiles that when others were present seemed never
to fail in the mechanical precision with which they illumined his
features at appropriate moments. They gave the impression of being
turned on, as if controlled by a tap or switch. Never was this smile
seen once the hall door was passed. Then Mr. Naylor's jaw squared, and
his whole attitude seemed to become more angular.
A knock at the door would cause him to look up quickly from whatever he
was doing, just as a gamekeeper might look up at the report of a gun.
By his orders Mrs. Naylor and Susan between them kept a complete list
of all callers, even hawkers, if they were sufficiently courageous to
risk an encounter with the redoubtable James.
Mr. Naylor was a tall man of broad build, with a head that would
persist in remaining square, in spite of his best endeavours to grow
the hair upon it in such a way as to soften its angularity. His eyes
were steely, his forehead low, his mouth hard and his manner furtive.
That was within doors. The breath of heaven, however, seemed to
mitigate all these unamiable characteristics, and it was only on very
rare occasions that, once beyond his own threshold, an observer would
see the harshness of the man. He smiled down at children, sometimes he
patted their heads, he was never lacking in a tip, appropriate or
inappropriate, he was the smoother out of discordant situations, he
nodded to all the tradespeople, smiled genially at his inferiors, and
saluted his superiors and equals. In short he was an ideal citizen.
The outbreak of war in August, 1914, was responsible for two changes in
the Naylor menage. First the at-home days were discontinued, secondly
James was more than ever in evidence. Nobody, however, noticed the
changes, because in Streatham such things are not considered worthy of
notice.
Mr. Naylor received few letters, for which the postman was grateful to
providence. Had Streatham been a little more curious, it would have
noticed that Mr. Naylor's comings and goings were fraught with some
curious and interesting characteristics. For one thing he appeared
constitutionally unable to proceed direct to a given point. For
instance, if Hampstead were his object, he would in all probability go
to Charing Cross, take a 'bus along Strand, the tube to Piccadilly
Circus, a taxi to Leicester Square, tube to Golders Green and 'bus to
Hampstead.
Another curious circumstance connected with Mr. Naylor was the number
of people who seemed to stop him to enquire their way, obviously people
who found it difficult to pronounce the names and addresses of those
they sought, for they invariably held in their hands pieces of paper,
which Mr. Naylor would read and then proceed to direct them. This
would occur in all parts of London.
To the casual observer interested in the details of Mr. Naylor's life,
it would have appeared that London waited for his approach, and then
incontinently made a bee-line for him to enquire its way. With smiling
geniality Mr. Naylor would read the paper offered to him, make one or
two remarks, then with a wave of his hand and a further genial smile
proceed on his way.
His courtesy was almost continental. He would take great pains to
direct the enquirer, sometimes even proceeding part of the way with him
to ensure that he should not go astray.
Since the war Mr. Naylor had patriotically given up his car, handing it
over to the Red Cross, and receiving from the local secretary a letter
of very genuine thanks and appreciation. There had also been a
paragraph in _The Streatham Herald_ notifying this splendid act of
citizenship.
In nothing was Mr. Naylor's sense of Christian charity so manifest as
in the patience with which he answered the number of false rings he
received on the telephone. It was extraordinary the way in which wrong
numbers seemed to be put through to him; yet his courtesy never forsook
him. His reply was always the same. "No; I am Mr. Montague Naylor of
Streatham." It frequently happened that shortly after such a call Mr.
Naylor would go out, when James would be left in the front garden.
Mrs. Naylor had particular instructions always to make a note of any
rings that came on the telephone during Mr. Naylor's absence, no matter
whether they were for him or for anyone else. She was to take down
every word that was said, and always say in response that the
subscriber was on to Mr. Naylor of Streatham.
One morning whilst John Dene was giving down letters to Dorothy in his
customary jerky manner, Mr. Naylor sat at breakfast, his attention
equally divided between the meal and the morning paper. Opposite sat
Mrs. Naylor, watching him as a dog watches a master of uncertain
temper. She was a little woman with a colourless face, from which
sparse grey hair was drawn with puritan severity. In her weak blue
eyes was fear--fear of her lord and master, and in her manner
deprecation and apology.
The only sound to be heard were the champing of Mr. Naylor's jaws, and
the occasional rustle of the newspaper. Mr. Naylor was a hearty eater
and an omnivorous reader of newspapers. In the front garden James gave
occasional tongue, protesting against the existence of some passer-by.
After a particularly vigorous bout of barking on James's part, Mr.
Naylor looked up suddenly and, fixing Mrs. Naylor with astern eye,
demanded, "Any post?"
"I haven't heard the post-woman yet," faltered Mrs. Naylor
apologetically. She was at heart a pacifist in the domestic sense.
"Go and see," was the gruff retort, as Mr. Naylor thrust into his mouth
a large piece of bread, which he had previously wiped round his plate
to absorb the elemental juices of the morning bacon.
Mrs. Naylor rose meekly and left the room. A few moments later she
returned, carrying in her hand two envelopes. Mr. Naylor looked up
over his spectacles.
"They were on the path," she explained timidly. "James is in the
garden."
The post-woman had tacitly carried on the tradition of her predecessor,
the postman. If James were about, the letters went over the garden
gate; if James were not about, they went into the letter-box.
With a grunt Mr. Naylor snatched the letters from Mrs. Naylor's hand
and looked at them keenly. One bore a halfpenny stamp, and was
consequently of no particular importance. This he laid beside his
plate. The other, however, he subjected to a rigorous and elaborate
examination. He scrutinised the handwriting, examined carefully the
postmark, turned it over and gazed at the fastening. Then taking a
letter-opener from his pocket, he slowly slit the top of the envelope,
and taking out a sheet of notepaper unfolded it.
"Gott----" He bit off the phrase savagely, and looked up fiercely at
Mrs. Naylor, as if she was responsible for his lapse. Instinctively
she shrank back. From the garden James's vigorous barking swelled out
into a fortissimo of protest.
"Stop that dog," he shouted, whereat Mrs. Naylor rose and left the room.
With scowling eyebrows Mr. Naylor read his letter, and ground his teeth
with suppressed fury.
"Der mann muss verrueckt 'sein."
He re-read the letter, then placing it in his pocket looked across the
table, seeming for the first time to notice that Mrs. Naylor had left
the room. Going to the door he opened it and shouted a peremptory
"Here!"
As Mrs. Naylor entered with obvious trepidation, he fixed her with a
stern disapproving eye.
"There's somebody coming this afternoon at four," he said. "I'll see
him in the study," and with that he once more drew the letter from his
pocket and read it for the third time, whilst Mrs. Naylor withdrew.
The letter which was typewritten, even to the signature, ran:
'DEAR MR. NAYLOR,--
"I hope to call upon you on Thursday afternoon at four o'clock. I
regret that unforseen circumstances have prevented me from giving
myself this pleasure before.
"Yours very truly,
"J. VAN HELDER."
With a grumble in his throat Mr. Naylor walked out of the dining-room,
across the hall and into his study. Closing and locking the door he
went over to his writing-table, and seemed to collapse into rather than
sit on the chair. He was oblivious to everything except the scrap of
paper before him. The cloud upon his brow seemed to intensify, his
face became more cruel. The Mr. Naylor of Streatham, patriot,
philanthropist and good citizen, had vanished, giving place to a man in
whose heart was anger and fear.
At the end of five minutes he drew towards him a small metal tray.
Taking a match from a stand, he struck it and deliberately setting
light to the paper, held it while it burned. When the flame seared his
fingers, he placed the whole upon the metal dish, scowling at the paper
as it writhed and crackled in its death agony. He then proceeded to
burn the envelope. When both were reduced to twisted shapes of carbon,
he opened a drawer, took from it a duster and pressed it down upon the
metal plate, reducing the contents to black powder.
Picking up the tray he carried it over to the grate, emptied the powder
into the fireplace, wiped the tray and replaced it upon the table,
thrusting the duster back into the drawer. He then sank once more into
his chair, conscious that the morning had begun ill.
Ten minutes later he rose, unlocked the door and went out into the
hall. He took his hat from the stand and brushed it carefully.
Picking up his gloves and umbrella, he gave a final look round, then
composing his features for the outside world, he opened the door and
passed out into Apthorpe Road.
For such of his neighbours as he encountered he had a cheery word, a
lifting of his hat, or a wave of the hand. Housewives would sigh
enviously as they saw Mr. Naylor pass genially on his way. He was
always the same, they told themselves, remembering with a little pang
the vagaries of their own husbands.
Before his return to "The Cedars" for lunch, Mr. Naylor with
unaccustomed emphasis foretold the doom of the Government unless it
immediately rushed a measure through Parliament for the internment of
all aliens. He was nothing if not thorough.