Nothing done! The whole Detective force of London, having nothing better
to do, were placed at my disposal, and, after three weeks' search, they
found a girl called SMITH; but it was the wrong one. My darling is
_blonde_, and this was a dark, almost a black, SMITH. I came back to
Ryde in a passion and a third-class carriage. I find from Mademoiselle
that Miss SMITH has not yet returned.
[Illustration: ]
JAMES seemed pleased to see me, but he noticed that in my anxiety and
preoccupation I had forgotten to have my hat ironed. The hotel is quite
full, and I am to sleep in the Haunted Room to-night.
* * *
I am not a hysterical man, and this is not a neurotic story. It is, as a
matter of fact, the same old rot to which the shilling shockers have
made us accustomed. I cannot account in any way for my experiences last
night in the Haunted Room, but they certainly were not due to
nervousness. I had not been asleep long before I had a most curious and
vivid dream. I felt that I was not in the hotel, and that at the same
time I was not out of it. I had a curious sense of being everywhere in
general, and nowhere in particular.
I saw before me a gorgeously furnished room. On the tiger-skin rug
before the fire was a basket with a crewel-worked chair-back spread over
it. _What was in the basket?_ Again and again I asked myself that
question. I felt like a long-division sum, and a cold shiver went down
my quotient.
In one corner of the room stood a man of about thirty, with a handsome,
wicked face. One hand rested on the drawer of a writing-table. Slowly he
drew from it a folded paper, and read, in a harsh, raucous voice:--
"'To cleaning and repairing one----' No, that's not it."
He selected another paper. Ah, it was the right one this time!
"'Memorandum of Aunt JANE'S Will.' 'All property to go to ALICE SMITH,
unless Aunt JANE'S poodle, _Tommy Atkins_, dies before ALICE SMITH comes
of age. In which case, it all goes to me.' I remember making that note
when the will was read. And now"--he glanced at the covered
basket--"_Tommy_'s kicked the bucket. Well, he stood in my way. Who's to
know? But there must be no _post-mortem_, no 'vet' fetched in. Happy
thought--I'll have the brute stuffed." He knelt down by the side of the
basket, and slowly drew back the covering. "Ah!" he said--"it's cruel
work."
Did he refer to the chair-back? or did he refer to the way in which, for
the sake of gain, an honest dog had been MURDERED? For there before my
eyes lay the dead poodle, _Tommy Atkins_!
"ALICE loses all her money," he continued, "but that doesn't matter. She
tells me that she's picked up no end of a swell down at Ryde, and he may
marry her. The question is--will he?" Once more I felt like a division
sum. I yearned to call out loudly, and answer with a decided negative;
but no words came. My strength was gone. I was utterly worked out, and
there was no remainder.
When I came to myself, I found JAMES, the waiter, standing by my bedside
with a gentleman whom I did not know. JAMES introduced him to me as a
Mr. ALKALOID, a photographer who was stopping in the hotel. Mr. ALKALOID
had been woken up by a wild shriek for a decided negative, and had
rushed down to see if he could do a little business. "Take you by the
electric light," he said; "just as you are,"--I was in my night-dress
and the old, old hat, the rim of which had been slightly
sprained,--"perfectly painless process, and money returned if not
satisfactory." I thanked him warmly, and apologised for having disturbed
him.
I went to London on the following day. I felt it my positive duty to
explain that I should always regard ALICE SMITH as a sister, but nothing
more.
I had quite forgotten that I did not know the house where ALICE SMITH
lived, and the poodle dog lay dead.
(_Here ends the Narrative of_ CYRIL MUSH.)
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SUMMONS TO DUTY.
(_Design for a Parliamentary Cartoon, illustrating the Life of a Country
Member._)]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "EXCLUSIVE DEALING."
_Irish Landlord_ (_boycotted_). "PAT, MY MAN, I'M IN NO END OF A HURRY.
PUT THE PONY TO, AND DRIVE ME TO THE STATION, AND I'LL GIVE YE HALF A
SOVEREIGN!"
_Pat_ (_Nationalist, but needy_). "OCH SHURE, IT'S MORE THAN ME LOIFE IS
WORTH TO BE SEEN DROIVING _YOU_, YER HONOUR. BUT"--(_slily_)--"IF YER
HONOUR WOULD JIST DROIVE _ME_, MAYBE IT'S MESELF THAT MOIGHT VENTURE
IT!"]
* * * * *
"SWEET-MARJORIE!"
[Illustration: Change for a Tenor. Wilfred of Huntington is succeeded by
that Man of Mark--Tapley.]
Take it all in all, _Marjorie_ at the Prince of Wales' is a very
satisfactory production. The subject is English, the music is English,
and the "book" is English too. So when we applaud the new Opera, we have
the satisfaction of knowing that our cheers are given in the cause of
native talent triumphant. This is appropriate to the "time" of the play
(the commencement of the thirteenth century), which is the very epoch
when the Saxons were beginning to hold their own in the teeth of their
Norman conquerors. But leaving patriotism out of the question (a matter
which, it is to be feared, is not likely to influence Stalls, Pit, and
Gallery materially for a very lengthened period), the Opera _quâ_ Opera
is a very good one. The company is strong--so strong, that it hears the
loss of an accomplished songstress like Miss HUNTINGTON without severely
suffering. It is true that an excellent substitute for the lady has been
found in that tenor with the cheerful name, Mr. MARK TAPLEY, whose notes
are certainly worth their weight in gold; but leaving the
representatives of _Wilfred_ "outside the competition," the remainder of
the _Dramatis Personæ_ are excellent. They work well together, and
consequently the _ensemble_ is in the highest degree pleasing.
Assistance of rather a graver character than usually associated with
comic opera is naturally afforded by Mr. HAYDYN COFFIN. Miss PHYLLIS
BROUGHTON is introduced not only to sing but to dance, and performs the
latter accomplishment with a grace not to be surpassed, and only to be
equalled by Miss KATE VAUGHAN. Mr. ASHLEY, now happily returned to the
melodious paths from which he strayed to play in pieces of the calibre
of _Pink Dominoes_, seems quite at home in the character of _Sir
Simon_--not "the Cellarer," but rather, "the sold one." Mr. MONKHOUSE,
whose name and personality go to prove that a cowl does not preclude its
occasional occupation by a wag, is most amusing as _Gosric_. Mr. ALBERT
JAMES is a lively jester, whose quips and cranks might have been of
considerable value to Mr. JOSEPH MILLER when that literary droll was
engaged in compiling his comic classic. Miss D'ARVILLE and Madame AMADI
both work with a will, and find a way to public favour. The dresses are
in excellent taste, and the scenery capital.
That the _mise en scène_ is perfect, goes without saying, as this Opera
has been produced by that past master of stage-direction, the one and
only AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS. The dialogue is sufficiently pointed--not too
pointed, but pointed enough. It does not require a knowledge of the
niceties of the law, the regulations of the British army, or a keen
appreciation of the subtlest subtleties of logic to fully understand it.
It is amusing, and provocative of innocent laughter, which, after all,
seems to be a sufficient recommendation for words spoken within the
walls of a play-house. The music is full of melody--"quite killing," as
a young lady wittily observed, on noticing that the name of the Composer
was SLAUGHTER. So _Marjorie_ may be fairly said not only to have
deserved success, but (it is satisfactory to be able to add) also to
have attained it.