STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS
FRANCIS SCRYMGEOUR, a clerk in the Bank of Scotland at Edinburgh, hadattained the age of twenty-five in a sphere of quiet, creditable, anddomestic life. His mother died while he was young; but his father, a manof sense and probity, had given him an excellent education at school, andbrought him up at home to orderly and frugal habits. Francis, who was ofa docile and affectionate disposition, profited by these advantages withzeal, and devoted himself heart and soul to his employment. A walk uponSaturday afternoon, an occasional dinner with members of his family, anda yearly tour of a fortnight in the Highlands or even on the continent ofEurope, were his principal distractions, and, he grew rapidly in favourwith his superiors, and enjoyed already a salary of nearly two hundredpounds a year, with the prospect of an ultimate advance to almost doublethat amount. Few young men were more contented, few more willing andlaborious than Francis Scrymgeour. Sometimes at night, when he had readthe daily paper, he would play upon the flute to amuse his father, forwhose qualities he entertained a great respect.
One day he received a note from a well-known firm of Writers to theSignet, requesting the favour of an immediate interview with him. Theletter was marked “Private and Confidential,” and had been addressed tohim at the bank, instead of at home—two unusual circumstances which madehim obey the summons with the more alacrity. The senior member of thefirm, a man of much austerity of manner, made him gravely welcome,requested him to take a seat, and proceeded to explain the matter in handin the picked expressions of a veteran man of business. A person, whomust remain nameless, but of whom the lawyer had every reason to thinkwell—a man, in short, of some station in the country—desired to makeFrancis an annual allowance of five hundred pounds. The capital was tobe placed under the control of the lawyer’s firm and two trustees whomust also remain anonymous. There were conditions annexed to thisliberality, but he was of opinion that his new client would find nothingeither excessive or dishonourable in the terms; and he repeated these twowords with emphasis, as though he desired to commit himself to nothingmore.
Francis asked their nature.
“The conditions,” said the Writer to the Signet, “are, as I have twiceremarked, neither dishonourable nor excessive. At the same time I cannotconceal from you that they are most unusual. Indeed, the whole case isvery much out of our way; and I should certainly have refused it had itnot been for the reputation of the gentleman who entrusted it to my care,and, let me add, Mr. Scrymgeour, the interest I have been led to take inyourself by many complimentary and, I have no doubt, well-deservedreports.”
Francis entreated him to be more specific.
“You cannot picture my uneasiness as to these conditions,” he said.
“They are two,” replied the lawyer, “only two; and the sum, as you willremember, is five hundred a-year—and unburdened, I forgot to add,unburdened.”
And the lawyer raised his eyebrows at him with solemn gusto.
“The first,” he resumed, “is of remarkable simplicity. You must be inParis by the afternoon of Sunday, the 15th; there you will find, at thebox-office of the Comédie Française, a ticket for admission taken in yourname and waiting you. You are requested to sit out the whole performancein the seat provided, and that is all.”
“I should certainly have preferred a week-day,” replied Francis. “ But,after all, once in a way—”
“And in Paris, my dear sir,” added the lawyer soothingly. “I believe Iam something of a precisian myself, but upon such a consideration, and inParis, I should not hesitate an instant.”
And the pair laughed pleasantly together.
“The other is of more importance,” continued the Writer to the Signet.“It regards your marriage. My client, taking a deep interest in yourwelfare, desires to advise you absolutely in the choice of a wife.Absolutely, you understand,” he repeated.
“Let us be more explicit, if you please,” returned Francis. “Am I tomarry any one, maid or widow, black or white, whom this invisible personchooses to propose?”
“I was to assure you that suitability of age and position should be aprinciple with your benefactor,” replied the lawyer. “As to race, Iconfess the difficulty had not occurred to me, and I failed to inquire;but if you like I will make a note of it at once, and advise you on theearliest opportunity.”
“Sir,” said Francis, “it remains to be seen whether this whole affair isnot a most unworthy fraud. The circumstances are inexplicable—I hadalmost said incredible; and until I see a little more daylight, and someplausible motive, I confess I should be very sorry to put a hand to thetransaction. I appeal to you in this difficulty for information. I mustlearn what is at the bottom of it all. If you do not know, cannot guess,or are not at liberty to tell me, I shall take my hat and go back to mybank as came.”
“I do not know,” answered the lawyer, “but I have an excellent guess.Your father, and no one else, is at the root of this apparently unnaturalbusiness.”
“My father!” cried Francis, in extreme disdain. “Worthy man, I knowevery thought of his mind, every penny of his fortune!”
“You misinterpret my words,” said the lawyer. “I do not refer to Mr.Scrymgeour, senior; for he is not your father. When he and his wife cameto Edinburgh, you were already nearly one year old, and you had not yetbeen three months in their care. The secret has been well kept; but suchis the fact. Your father is unknown, and I say again that I believe himto be the original of the offers I am charged at present to transmit toyou.”
It would be impossible to exaggerate the astonishment of FrancisScrymgeour at this unexpected information. He pled this confusion to thelawyer.
“Sir,” said he, “after a piece of news so startling, you must grant mesome hours for thought. You shall know this evening what conclusion Ihave reached.”
The lawyer commended his prudence; and Francis, excusing himself uponsome pretext at the bank, took a long walk into the country, and fullyconsidered the different steps and aspects of the case. A pleasant senseof his own importance rendered him the more deliberate: but the issue wasfrom the first not doubtful. His whole carnal man leaned irresistiblytowards the five hundred a year, and the strange conditions with which itwas burdened; he discovered in his heart an invincible repugnance to thename of Scrymgeour, which he had never hitherto disliked; he began todespise the narrow and unromantic interests of his former life; and whenonce his mind was fairly made up, he walked with a new feeling ofstrength and freedom, and nourished himself with the gayestanticipations.
He said but a word to the lawyer, and immediately received a cheque fortwo quarters’ arrears; for the allowance was ante-dated from the first ofJanuary. With this in his pocket, he walked home. The flat in ScotlandStreet looked mean in his eyes; his nostrils, for the first time,rebelled against the odour of broth; and he observed little defects ofmanner in his adoptive father which filled him with surprise and almostwith disgust. The next day, he determined, should see him on his way toParis.
In that city, where he arrived long before the appointed date, he put upat a modest hotel frequented by English and Italians, and devoted himselfto improvement in the French tongue; for this purpose he had a mastertwice a week, entered into conversation with loiterers in the ChampsElysées, and nightly frequented the theatre. He had his whole toilettefashionably renewed; and was shaved and had his hair dressed everymorning by a barber in a neighbouring street. This gave him something ofa foreign air, and seemed to wipe off the reproach of his past years.
At length, on the Saturday afternoon, he betook himself to the box-officeof the theatre in the Rue Richelieu. No sooner had he mentioned his namethan the clerk produced the order in an envelope of which the address wasscarcely dry.
“It has been taken this moment,” said the clerk.
“Indeed!” said Francis. “May I ask what the gentleman was like?”
“Your friend is easy to describe,” replied the official. “He is old andstrong
and beautiful, with white hair and a sabre-cut across his face.You cannot fail to recognise so marked a person.”
“No, indeed,” returned Francis; “and I thank you for your politeness.”
“He cannot yet be far distant,” added the clerk. “If you make haste youmight still overtake him.”
Francis did not wait to be twice told; he ran precipitately from thetheatre into the middle of the street and looked in all directions. Morethan one white-haired man was within sight; but though he overtook eachof them in succession, all wanted the sabre-cut. For nearly half-an-hourhe tried one street after another in the neighbourhood, until at length,recognising the folly of continued search, he started on a walk tocompose his agitated feelings; for this proximity of an encounter withhim to whom he could not doubt he owed the day had profoundly moved theyoung man.
It chanced that his way lay up the Rue Drouot and thence up the Rue desMartyrs; and chance, in this case, served him better than all theforethought in the world. For on the outer boulevard he saw two men inearnest colloquy upon a seat. One was dark, young, and handsome,secularly dressed, but with an indelible clerical stamp; the otheranswered in every particular to the description given him by the clerk.Francis felt his heart beat high in his bosom; he knew he was now aboutto hear the voice of his father; and making a wide circuit, henoiselessly took his place behind the couple in question, who were toomuch interested in their talk to observe much else. As Francis hadexpected, the conversation was conducted in the English language.
“Your suspicions begin to annoy me, Rolles,” said the older man. “I tellyou I am doing my utmost; a man cannot lay his hand on millions in amoment. Have I not taken you up, a mere stranger, out of pure good-will?Are you not living largely on my bounty?”
“On your advances, Mr. Vandeleur,” corrected the other.
“Advances, if you choose; and interest instead of goodwill, if you preferit,” returned Vandeleur angrily. “I am not here to pick expressions.Business is business; and your business, let me remind you, is too muddyfor such airs. Trust me, or leave me alone and find some one else; butlet us have an end, for God’s sake, of your jeremiads.”
“I am beginning to learn the world,” replied the other, “and I see thatyou have every reason to play me false, and not one to deal honestly. Iam not here to pick expressions either; you wish the diamond foryourself; you know you do—you dare not deny it. Have you not alreadyforged my name, and searched my lodging in my absence? I understand thecause of your delays; you are lying in wait; you are the diamond hunter,forsooth; and sooner or later, by fair means or foul, you’ll lay yourhands upon it. I tell you, it must stop; push me much further and Ipromise you a surprise.”
“It does not become you to use threats,” returned Vandeleur. “Two canplay at that. My brother is here in Paris; the police are on the alert;and if you persist in wearying me with your caterwauling, I will arrangea little astonishment for you, Mr. Rolles. But mine shall be once andfor all. Do you understand, or would you prefer me to tell it you inHebrew? There is an end to all things, and you have come to the end ofmy patience. Tuesday, at seven; not a day, not an hour sooner, not theleast part of a second, if it were to save your life. And if you do notchoose to wait, you may go to the bottomless pit for me, and welcome.”
And so saying, the Dictator arose from the bench, and marched off in thedirection of Montmartre, shaking his head and swinging his cane with amost furious air; while his companion remained where he was, in anattitude of great dejection.
Francis was at the pitch of surprise and horror; his sentiments had beenshocked to the last degree; the hopeful tenderness with which he hadtaken his place upon the bench was transformed into repulsion anddespair; old Mr. Scrymgeour, he reflected, was a far more kindly andcreditable parent than this dangerous and violent intriguer; but heretained his presence of mind, and suffered not a moment to elapse beforehe was on the trail of the Dictator.
That gentleman’s fury carried him forward at a brisk pace, and he was socompletely occupied in his angry thoughts that he never so much as cast alook behind him till he reached his own door.
His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic, commanding a view of all Parisand enjoying the pure air of the heights. It was two storeys high, withgreen blinds and shutters; and all the windows looking on the street werehermetically closed. Tops of trees showed over the high garden wall, andthe wall was protected by _chevaux-de-frise_. The Dictator paused amoment while he searched his pocket for a key; and then, opening a gate,disappeared within the enclosure.
Francis looked about him; the neighbourhood was very lonely, the houseisolated in its garden. It seemed as if his observation must here cometo an abrupt end. A second glance, however, showed him a tall house nextdoor presenting a gable to the garden, and in this gable a single window.He passed to the front and saw a ticket offering unfurnished lodgings bythe month; and, on inquiry, the room which commanded the Dictator’sgarden proved to be one of those to let. Francis did not hesitate amoment; he took the room, paid an advance upon the rent, and returned tohis hotel to seek his baggage.
The old man with the sabre-cut might or might not be his father; he mightor he might not be upon the true scent; but he was certainly on the edgeof an exciting mystery, and he promised himself that he would not relaxhis observation until he had got to the bottom of the secret.
From the window of his new apartment Francis Scrymgeour commanded acomplete view into the garden of the house with the green blinds.Immediately below him a very comely chestnut with wide boughs sheltered apair of rustic tables where people might dine in the height of summer.On all sides save one a dense vegetation concealed the soil; but there,between the tables and the house, he saw a patch of gravel walk leadingfrom the verandah to the garden-gate. Studying the place from betweenthe boards of the Venetian shutters, which he durst not open for fear ofattracting attention, Francis observed but little to indicate the mannersof the inhabitants, and that little argued no more than a close reserveand a taste for solitude. The garden was conventual, the house had theair of a prison. The green blinds were all drawn down upon the outside;the door into the verandah was closed; the garden, as far as he could seeit, was left entirely to itself in the evening sunshine. A modest curlof smoke from a single chimney alone testified to the presence of livingpeople.
In order that he might not be entirely idle, and to give a certain colourto his way of life, Francis had purchased Euclid’s Geometry in French,which he set himself to copy and translate on the top of his portmanteauand seated on the floor against the wall; for he was equally withoutchair or table. From time to time he would rise and cast a glance intothe enclosure of the house with the green blinds; but the windowsremained obstinately closed and the garden empty.
Only late in the evening did anything occur to reward his continuedattention. Between nine and ten the sharp tinkle of a bell aroused himfrom a fit of dozing; and he sprang to his observatory in time to hear animportant noise of locks being opened and bars removed, and to see Mr.Vandeleur, carrying a lantern and clothed in a flowing robe of blackvelvet with a skull-cap to match, issue from under the verandah andproceed leisurely towards the garden gate. The sound of bolts and barswas then repeated; and a moment after Francis perceived the Dictatorescorting into the house, in the mobile light of the lantern, anindividual of the lowest and most despicable appearance.
Half-an-hour afterwards the visitor was reconducted to the street; andMr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of the rustic tables, finisheda cigar with great deliberation under the foliage of the chestnut.Francis, peering through a clear space among the leaves, was able tofollow his gestures as he threw away the ash or enjoyed a copiousinhalation; and beheld a cloud upon the old man’s brow and a forcibleaction of the lips, which testified to some deep and probably painfultrain of thought. The cigar was already almost at an end, when the voiceof a young girl was heard suddenly crying the hour from the interior ofthe house.
“In a mo
ment,” replied John Vandeleur.
And, with that, he threw away the stump and, taking up the lantern,sailed away under the verandah for the night. As soon as the door wasclosed, absolute darkness fell upon the house; Francis might try hiseyesight as much as he pleased, he could not detect so much as a singlechink of light below a blind; and he concluded, with great good sense,that the bed-chambers were all upon the other side.
Early the next morning (for he was early awake after an uncomfortablenight upon the floor), he saw cause to adopt a different explanation.The blinds rose, one after another, by means of a spring in the interior,and disclosed steel shutters such as we see on the front of shops; thesein their turn were rolled up by a similar contrivance; and for the spaceof about an hour, the chambers were left open to the morning air. At theend of that time Mr. Vandeleur, with his own hand, once more closed theshutters and replaced the blinds from within.
While Francis was still marvelling at these precautions, the door openedand a young girl came forth to look about her in the garden. It was nottwo minutes before she re-entered the house, but even in that short timehe saw enough to convince him that she possessed the most unusualattractions. His curiosity was not only highly excited by this incident,but his spirits were improved to a still more notable degree. Thealarming manners and more than equivocal life of his father ceased fromthat moment to prey upon his mind; from that moment he embraced his newfamily with ardour; and whether the young lady should prove his sister orhis wife, he felt convinced she was an angel in disguise. So much wasthis the case that he was seized with a sudden horror when he reflectedhow little he really knew, and how possible it was that he had followedthe wrong person when he followed Mr. Vandeleur.
The porter, whom he consulted, could afford him little information; but,such as it was, it had a mysterious and questionable sound. The personnext door was an English gentleman of extraordinary wealth, andproportionately eccentric in his tastes and habits. He possessed greatcollections, which he kept in the house beside him; and it was to protectthese that he had fitted the place with steel shutters, elaboratefastenings, and _chevaux-de-frise_ along the garden wall. He lived muchalone, in spite of some strange visitors with whom, it seemed, he hadbusiness to transact; and there was no one else in the house, exceptMademoiselle and an old woman servant.
“Is Mademoiselle his daughter?” inquired Francis.
“Certainly,” replied the porter. “Mademoiselle is the daughter of thehouse; and strange it is to see how she is made to work. For all hisriches, it is she who goes to market; and every day in the week you maysee her going by with a basket on her arm.”
“And the collections?” asked the other.
“Sir,” said the man, “they are immensely valuable. More I cannot tellyou. Since M. de Vandeleur’s arrival no one in the quarter has so muchas passed the door.”
“Suppose not,” returned Francis, “you must surely have some notion whatthese famous galleries contain. Is it pictures, silks, statues, jewels,or what?”
“My faith, sir,” said the fellow with a shrug, “it might be carrots, andstill I could not tell you. How should I know? The house is kept like agarrison, as you perceive.”
And then as Francis was returning disappointed to his room, the portercalled him back.
“I have just remembered, sir,” said he. “M. de Vandeleur has been in allparts of the world, and I once heard the old woman declare that he hadbrought many diamonds back with him. If that be the truth, there must bea fine show behind those shutters.”
By an early hour on Sunday Francis was in his place at the theatre. Theseat which had been taken for him was only two or three numbers from theleft-hand side, and directly opposite one of the lower boxes. As theseat had been specially chosen there was doubtless something to belearned from its position; and he judged by an instinct that the box uponhis right was, in some way or other, to be connected with the drama inwhich he ignorantly played a part. Indeed, it was so situated that itsoccupants could safely observe him from beginning to end of the piece, ifthey were so minded; while, profiting by the depth, they could screenthemselves sufficiently well from any counter-examination on his side.He promised himself not to leave it for a moment out of sight; and whilsthe scanned the rest of the theatre, or made a show of attending to thebusiness of the stage, he always kept a corner of an eye upon the emptybox.
The second act had been some time in progress, and was even drawingtowards a close, when the door opened and two persons entered andensconced themselves in the darkest of the shade. Francis could hardlycontrol his emotion. It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter. The bloodcame and went in his arteries and veins with stunning activity; his earssang; his head turned. He dared not look lest he should awake suspicion;his play-bill, which he kept reading from end to end and over and overagain, turned from white to red before his eyes; and when he cast aglance upon the stage, it seemed incalculably far away, and he found thevoices and gestures of the actors to the last degree impertinent andabsurd.
From time to time he risked a momentary look in the direction whichprincipally interested him; and once at least he felt certain that hiseyes encountered those of the young girl. A shock passed over his body,and he saw all the colours of the rainbow. What would he not have givento overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs? What would he not havegiven for the courage to take up his opera-glass and steadily inspecttheir attitude and expression? There, for aught he knew, his whole lifewas being decided—and he not able to interfere, not able even to followthe debate, but condemned to sit and suffer where he was, in impotentanxiety.
At last the act came to an end. The curtain fell, and the people aroundhim began to leave their places, for the interval. It was only naturalthat he should follow their example; and if he did so, it was not onlynatural but necessary that he should pass immediately in front of the boxin question. Summoning all his courage, but keeping his eyes lowered,Francis drew near the spot. His progress was slow, for the old gentlemanbefore him moved with incredible deliberation, wheezing as he went. Whatwas he to do? Should he address the Vandeleurs by name as he went by?Should he take the flower from his button-hole and throw it into the box?Should he raise his face and direct one long and affectionate look uponthe lady who was either his sister or his betrothed? As he found himselfthus struggling among so many alternatives, he had a vision of his oldequable existence in the bank, and was assailed by a thought of regretfor the past.
By this time he had arrived directly opposite the box; and although hewas still undetermined what to do or whether to do anything, he turnedhis head and lifted his eyes. No sooner had he done so than he uttered acry of disappointment and remained rooted to the spot. The box wasempty. During his slow advance Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter hadquietly slipped away.
A polite person in his rear reminded him that he was stopping the path;and he moved on again with mechanical footsteps, and suffered the crowdto carry him unresisting out of the theatre. Once in the street, thepressure ceasing, he came to a halt, and the cool night air speedilyrestored him to the possession of his faculties. He was surprised tofind that his head ached violently, and that he remembered not one wordof the two acts which he had witnessed. As the excitement wore away, itwas succeeded by an overweening appetite for sleep, and he hailed a caband drove to his lodging in a state of extreme exhaustion and somedisgust of life.
Next morning he lay in wait for Miss Vandeleur on her road to market, andby eight o’clock beheld her stepping down a lane. She was simply, andeven poorly, attired; but in the carriage of her head and body there wassomething flexible and noble that would have lent distinction to themeanest toilette. Even her basket, so aptly did she carry it, became herlike an ornament. It seemed to Francis, as he slipped into a doorway,that the sunshine followed and the shadows fled before her as she walked;and he was conscious, for the first time, of a bird singing in a cageabove the lane.
He suffered her to pass the doorway, and then, com
ing forth once more,addressed her by name from behind. “Miss Vandeleur,” said he.
She turned and, when she saw who he was, became deadly pale.
“Pardon me,” he continued; “Heaven knows I had no will to startle you;and, indeed, there should be nothing startling in the presence of one whowishes you so well as I do. And, believe me, I am acting rather fromnecessity than choice. We have many things in common, and I am sadly inthe dark. There is much that I should be doing, and my hands are tied.I do not know even what to feel, nor who are my friends and enemies.”
She found her voice with an effort.
“I do not know who you are,” she said.
“Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do,” returned Francis “better than I domyself. Indeed, it is on that, above all, that I seek light. Tell mewhat you know,” he pleaded. “Tell me who I am, who you are, and how ourdestinies are intermixed. Give me a little help with my life, MissVandeleur—only a word or two to guide me, only the name of my father, ifyou will—and I shall be grateful and content.”
“I will not attempt to deceive you,” she replied. “I know who you are,but I am not at liberty to say.”
“Tell me, at least, that you have forgiven my presumption, and I shallwait with all the patience I have,” he said. “If I am not to know, Imust do without. It is cruel, but I can bear more upon a push. Only donot add to my troubles the thought that I have made an enemy of you.”
“You did only what was natural,” she said, “and I have nothing to forgiveyou. Farewell.”
“Is it to be _farewell_?” he asked.
“Nay, that I do not know myself,” she answered. “Farewell for thepresent, if you like.”
And with these words she was gone.
Francis returned to his lodging in a state of considerable commotion ofmind. He made the most trifling progress with his Euclid for thatforenoon, and was more often at the window than at his improvisedwriting-table. But beyond seeing the return of Miss Vandeleur, and themeeting between her and her father, who was smoking a Trichinopoli cigarin the verandah, there was nothing notable in the neighbourhood of thehouse with the green blinds before the time of the mid-day meal. Theyoung man hastily allayed his appetite in a neighbouring restaurant, andreturned with the speed of unallayed curiosity to the house in the RueLepic. A mounted servant was leading a saddle-horse to and fro beforethe garden wall; and the porter of Francis’s lodging was smoking a pipeagainst the door-post, absorbed in contemplation of the livery and thesteeds.
“Look!” he cried to the young man, “what fine cattle! what an elegantcostume! They belong to the brother of M. de Vandeleur, who is nowwithin upon a visit. He is a great man, a general, in your country; andyou doubtless know him well by reputation.”
“I confess,” returned Francis, “that I have never heard of GeneralVandeleur before. We have many officers of that grade, and my pursuitshave been exclusively civil.”
“It is he,” replied the porter, “who lost the great diamond of theIndies. Of that at least you must have read often in the papers.”
As soon as Francis could disengage himself from the porter he ranupstairs and hurried to the window. Immediately below the clear space inthe chestnut leaves, the two gentlemen were seated in conversation over acigar. The General, a red, military-looking man, offered some traces ofa family resemblance to his brother; he had something of the samefeatures, something, although very little, of the same free and powerfulcarriage; but he was older, smaller, and more common in air; his likenesswas that of a caricature, and he seemed altogether a poor and debilebeing by the side of the Dictator.
They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the table with every appearanceof interest, that Francis could catch no more than a word or two on anoccasion. For as little as he heard, he was convinced that theconversation turned upon himself and his own career; several times thename of Scrymgeour reached his ear, for it was easy to distinguish, andstill more frequently he fancied he could distinguish the name Francis.
At length the General, as if in a hot anger, broke forth into severalviolent exclamations.
“Francis Vandeleur!” he cried, accentuating the last word. “FrancisVandeleur, I tell you.”
The Dictator made a movement of his whole body, half affirmative, halfcontemptuous, but his answer was inaudible to the young man.
Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he wondered. Were theydiscussing the name under which he was to be married? Or was the wholeaffair a dream and a delusion of his own conceit and self-absorption?
After another interval of inaudible talk, dissension seemed again toarise between the couple underneath the chestnut, and again the Generalraised his voice angrily so as to be audible to Francis.
“My wife?” he cried. “I have done with my wife for good. I will nothear her name. I am sick of her very name.”
And he swore aloud and beat the table with his fist.
The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pacify him after a paternalfashion; and a little after he conducted him to the garden-gate. Thepair shook hands affectionately enough; but as soon as the door hadclosed behind his visitor, John Vandeleur fell into a fit of laughterwhich sounded unkindly and even devilish in the ears of FrancisScrymgeour.
So another day had passed, and little more learnt. But the young manremembered that the morrow was Tuesday, and promised himself some curiousdiscoveries; all might be well, or all might be ill; he was sure, atleast, to glean some curious information, and, perhaps, by good luck, getat the heart of the mystery which surrounded his father and his family.
As the hour of the dinner drew near many preparations were made in thegarden of the house with the green blinds. That table which was partlyvisible to Francis through the chestnut leaves was destined to serve as asideboard, and carried relays of plates and the materials for salad: theother, which was almost entirely concealed, had been set apart for thediners, and Francis could catch glimpses of white cloth and silver plate.
Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he looked like a man upon hisguard, and spoke low and sparingly. The Dictator, on the other hand,appeared to enjoy an unusual flow of spirits; his laugh, which wasyouthful and pleasant to hear, sounded frequently from the garden; by themodulation and the changes of his voice it was obvious that he told manydroll stories and imitated the accents of a variety of different nations;and before he and the young clergyman had finished their vermouth allfeeling of distrust was at an end, and they were talking together like apair of school companions.
At length Miss Vandeleur made her appearance, carrying the soup-tureen.Mr. Rolles ran to offer her assistance which she laughingly refused; andthere was an interchange of pleasantries among the trio which seemed tohave reference to this primitive manner of waiting by one of the company.
“One is more at one’s ease,” Mr. Vandeleur was heard to declare.
Next moment they were all three in their places, and Francis could see aslittle as he could hear of what passed. But the dinner seemed to gomerrily; there was a perpetual babble of voices and sound of knives andforks below the chestnut; and Francis, who had no more than a roll tognaw, was affected with envy by the comfort and deliberation of the meal.The party lingered over one dish after another, and then over a delicatedessert, with a bottle of old wine carefully uncorked by the hand of theDictator himself. As it began to grow dark a lamp was set upon the tableand a couple of candles on the sideboard; for the night was perfectlypure, starry, and windless. Light overflowed besides from the door andwindow in the verandah, so that the garden was fairly illuminated and theleaves twinkled in the darkness.
For perhaps the tenth time Miss Vandeleur entered the house; and on thisoccasion she returned with the coffee-tray, which she placed upon thesideboard. At the same moment her father rose from his seat.
“The coffee is my province,” Francis heard him say.
And next moment he saw his supposed father standing by the sideboard inthe light of the candles.
Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr. Vandeleur poured out twocups of the brown stimulant, and then, by a rapid act ofprestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tiny phial into the smallerof the two. The thing was so swiftly done that even Francis, who lookedstraight into his face, had hardly time to perceive the movement beforeit was completed. And next instant, and still laughing, Mr. Vandeleurhad turned again towards the table with a cup in either hand.
“Ere we have done with this,” said he, “we may expect our famous Hebrew.”
It would be impossible to depict the confusion and distress of FrancisScrymgeour. He saw foul play going forward before his eyes, and he feltbound to interfere, but knew not how. It might be a mere pleasantry, andthen how should he look if he were to offer an unnecessary warning? Oragain, if it were serious, the criminal might be his own father, and thenhow should he not lament if he were to bring ruin on the author of hisdays? For the first time he became conscious of his own position as aspy. To wait inactive at such a juncture and with such a conflict ofsentiments in his bosom was to suffer the most acute torture; he clung tothe bars of the shutters, his heart beat fast and with irregularity, andhe felt a strong sweat break forth upon his body.
Several minutes passed.
He seemed to perceive the conversation die away and grow less and less invivacity and volume; but still no sign of any alarming or even notableevent.
Suddenly the ring of a glass breaking was followed by a faint and dullsound, as of a person who should have fallen forward with his head uponthe table. At the same moment a piercing scream rose from the garden.
“What have you done?” cried Miss Vandeleur. “He is dead!”
The Dictator replied in a violent whisper, so strong and sibilant thatevery word was audible to the watcher at the window.
“Silence!” said Mr. Vandeleur; “the man is as well as I am. Take him bythe heels whilst I carry him by the shoulders.”
Francis heard Miss Vandeleur break forth into a passion of tears.
“Do you hear what I say?” resumed the Dictator, in the same tones. “Ordo you wish to quarrel with me? I give you your choice, Miss Vandeleur.”
There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.
“Take that man by the heels,” he said. “I must have him brought into thehouse. If I were a little younger, I could help myself against theworld. But now that years and dangers are upon me and my hands areweakened, I must turn to you for aid.”
“It is a crime,” replied the girl.
“I am your father,” said Mr. Vandeleur.
This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling noise followedupon the gravel, a chair was overset, and then Francis saw the father anddaughter stagger across the walk and disappear under the verandah,bearing the inanimate body of Mr. Rolles embraced about the knees andshoulders. The young clergyman was limp and pallid, and his head rolledupon his shoulders at every step.
Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator’s declaration,inclined to the latter view. A great crime had been committed; a greatcalamity had fallen upon the inhabitants of the house with the greenblinds. To his surprise, Francis found all horror for the deed swallowedup in sorrow for a girl and an old man whom he judged to be in the heightof peril. A tide of generous feeling swept into his heart; he, too,would help his father against man and mankind, against fate and justice;and casting open the shutters he closed his eyes and threw himself without-stretched arms into the foliage of the chestnut.
Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or broke under his weight;then he caught a stalwart bough under his armpit, and hung suspended fora second; and then he let himself drop and fell heavily against thetable. A cry of alarm from the house warned him that his entrance hadnot been effected unobserved. He recovered himself with a stagger, andin three bounds crossed the intervening space and stood before the doorin the verandah.
In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and surrounded by glazedcabinets full of rare and costly curios, Mr. Vandeleur was stooping overthe body of Mr. Rolles. He raised himself as Francis entered, and therewas an instantaneous passage of hands. It was the business of a second;as fast as an eye can wink the thing was done; the young man had not thetime to be sure, but it seemed to him as if the Dictator had takensomething from the curate’s breast, looked at it for the least fractionof time as it lay in his hand, and then suddenly and swiftly passed it tohis daughter.
All this was over while Francis had still one foot upon the threshold,and the other raised in air. The next instant he was on his knees to Mr.Vandeleur.
“Father!” he cried. “Let me too help you. I will do what you wish andask no questions; I will obey you with my life; treat me as a son, andyou will find I have a son’s devotion.”
A deplorable explosion of oaths was the Dictator’s first reply.
“Son and father?” he cried. “Father and son? What d—d unnatural comedyis all this? How do you come in my garden? What do you want? And who,in God’s name, are you?”
Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got upon his feet again,and stood in silence.
Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and he laughed aloud
“I see,” cried he. “It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr. Scrymgeour.Let me tell you in a few words how you stand. You have entered myprivate residence by force, or perhaps by fraud, but certainly with noencouragement from me; and you come at a moment of some annoyance, aguest having fainted at my table, to besiege me with your protestations.You are no son of mine. You are my brother’s bastard by a fishwife, ifyou want to know. I regard you with an indifference closely bordering onaversion; and from what I now see of your conduct, I judge your mind tobe exactly suitable to your exterior. I recommend you these mortifyingreflections for your leisure; and, in the meantime, let me beseech you torid us of your presence. If I were not occupied,” added the Dictator,with a terrifying oath, “I should give you the unholiest drubbing ere youwent!”
Francis listened in profound humiliation. He would have fled had it beenpossible; but as he had no means of leaving the residence into which hehad so unfortunately penetrated, he could do no more than stand foolishlywhere he was.
It was Miss Vandeleur who broke the silence.
“Father,” she said, “you speak in anger. Mr. Scrymgeour may have beenmistaken, but he meant well and kindly.”
“Thank you for speaking,” returned the Dictator. “You remind me of someother observations which I hold it a point of honour to make to Mr.Scrymgeour. My brother,” he continued, addressing the young man, “hasbeen foolish enough to give you an allowance; he was foolish enough andpresumptuous enough to propose a match between you and this young lady.You were exhibited to her two nights ago; and I rejoice to tell you thatshe rejected the idea with disgust. Let me add that I have considerableinfluence with your father; and it shall not be my fault if you are notbeggared of your allowance and sent back to your scrivening ere the weekbe out.”
The tones of the old man’s voice were, if possible, more wounding thanhis language; Francis felt himself exposed to the most cruel, blighting,and unbearable contempt; his head turned, and he covered his face withhis hands, uttering at the same time a tearless sob of agony. But MissVandeleur once again interfered in his behalf.
“Mr. Scrymgeour,” she said, speaking in clear and even tones, “you mustnot be concerned at my father’s harsh expressions. I felt no disgust foryou; on the contrary, I asked an opportunity to make your betteracquaintance. As for what has passed to-night, believe me it has filledmy mind with both pity and esteem.”
Just then Mr. Rolles made a convulsive movement with his arm, whichconvinced Francis that he was only drugged, and was beginning to throwoff the influence of the opiate. Mr. Vandeleur stooped over him andexamined his face for an instant.
“Come, come!” cried he, raising his head. “Let there be an end of this.And since you are so pleased with his conduct, Miss Vandel
eur, take acandle and show the bastard out.”
The young lady hastened to obey.
“Thank you,” said Francis, as soon as he was alone with her in thegarden. “I thank you from my soul. This has been the bitterest eveningof my life, but it will have always one pleasant recollection.”
“I spoke as I felt,” she replied, “and in justice to you. It made myheart sorry that you should be so unkindly used.”
By this time they had reached the garden gate; and Miss Vandeleur, havingset the candle on the ground, was already unfastening the bolts.
“One word more,” said Francis. “This is not for the last time—I shallsee you again, shall I not?”
“Alas!” she answered. “You have heard my father. What can I do butobey?”
“Tell me at least that it is not with your consent,” returned Francis;“tell me that you have no wish to see the last of me.”
“Indeed,” replied she, “I have none. You seem to me both brave andhonest.”
“Then,” said Francis, “give me a keepsake.”
She paused for a moment, with her hand upon the key; for the various barsand bolts were all undone, and there was nothing left but to open thelock.
“If I agree,” she said, “will you promise to do as I tell you from pointto point?”
“Can you ask?” replied Francis. “I would do so willingly on your bareword.”
She turned the key and threw open the door.
“Be it so,” said she. “You do not know what you ask, but be it so.Whatever you hear,” she continued, “whatever happens, do not return tothis house; hurry fast until you reach the lighted and populous quartersof the city; even there be upon your guard. You are in a greater dangerthan you fancy. Promise me you will not so much as look at my keepsakeuntil you are in a place of safety.”
“I promise,” replied Francis.
She put something loosely wrapped in a handkerchief into the young man’shand; and at the same time, with more strength than he could haveanticipated, she pushed him into the street.
“Now, run!” she cried.
He heard the door close behind him, and the noise of the bolts beingreplaced.
“My faith,” said he, “since I have promised!”
And he took to his heels down the lane that leads into the Rue Ravignan.
He was not fifty paces from the house with the green blinds when the mostdiabolical outcry suddenly arose out of the stillness of the night.Mechanically he stood still; another passenger followed his example; inthe neighbouring floors he saw people crowding to the windows; aconflagration could not have produced more disturbance in this emptyquarter. And yet it seemed to be all the work of a single man, roaringbetween grief and rage, like a lioness robbed of her whelps; and Franciswas surprised and alarmed to hear his own name shouted with Englishimprecations to the wind.
His first movement was to return to the house; his second, as heremembered Miss Vandeleur’s advice, to continue his flight with greaterexpedition than before; and he was in the act of turning to put histhought in action, when the Dictator, bareheaded, bawling aloud, hiswhite hair blowing about his head, shot past him like a ball out of thecannon’s mouth, and went careering down the street.
“That was a close shave,” thought Francis to himself. “What he wantswith me, and why he should be so disturbed, I cannot think; but he isplainly not good company for the moment, and I cannot do better thanfollow Miss Vandeleur’s advice.”
So saying, he turned to retrace his steps, thinking to double and descendby the Rue Lepic itself while his pursuer should continue to follow afterhim on the other line of street. The plan was ill-devised: as a matterof fact, he should have taken his seat in the nearest café, and waitedthere until the first heat of the pursuit was over. But besides thatFrancis had no experience and little natural aptitude for the small warof private life, he was so unconscious of any evil on his part, that hesaw nothing to fear beyond a disagreeable interview. And to disagreeableinterviews he felt he had already served his apprenticeship that evening;nor could he suppose that Miss Vandeleur had left anything unsaid.Indeed, the young man was sore both in body and mind—the one was allbruised, the other was full of smarting arrows; and he owned to himselfthat Mr. Vandeleur was master of a very deadly tongue.
The thought of his bruises reminded him that he had not only come withouta hat, but that his clothes had considerably suffered in his descentthrough the chestnut. At the first magazine he purchased a cheapwideawake, and had the disorder of his toilet summarily repaired. Thekeepsake, still rolled in the handkerchief, he thrust in the meanwhileinto his trousers pocket.
Not many steps beyond the shop he was conscious of a sudden shock, a handupon his throat, an infuriated face close to his own, and an open mouthbawling curses in his ear. The Dictator, having found no trace of hisquarry, was returning by the other way. Francis was a stalwart youngfellow; but he was no match for his adversary whether in strength orskill; and after a few ineffectual struggles he resigned himself entirelyto his captor.
“What do you want with me?” said he.
“We will talk of that at home,” returned the Dictator grimly.
And he continued to march the young man up hill in the direction of thehouse with the green blinds.
But Francis, although he no longer struggled, was only waiting anopportunity to make a bold push for freedom. With a sudden jerk he leftthe collar of his coat in the hands of Mr. Vandeleur, and once more madeoff at his best speed in the direction of the Boulevards.
The tables were now turned. If the Dictator was the stronger, Francis,in the top of his youth, was the more fleet of foot, and he had sooneffected his escape among the crowds. Relieved for a moment, but with agrowing sentiment of alarm and wonder in his mind, be walked brisklyuntil he debauched upon the Place de l’Opéra, lit up like day withelectric lamps.
“This, at least,” thought he, “should satisfy Miss Vandeleur.”
And turning to his right along the Boulevards, he entered the CaféAméricain and ordered some beer. It was both late and early for themajority of the frequenters of the establishment. Only two or threepersons, all men, were dotted here and there at separate tables in thehall; and Francis was too much occupied by his own thoughts to observetheir presence.
He drew the handkerchief from his pocket. The object wrapped in itproved to be a morocco case, clasped and ornamented in gilt, which openedby means of a spring, and disclosed to the horrified young man a diamondof monstrous bigness and extraordinary brilliancy. The circumstance wasso inexplicable, the value of the stone was plainly so enormous, thatFrancis sat staring into the open casket without movement, withoutconscious thought, like a man stricken suddenly with idiocy.
A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly, and a quiet voice,which yet had in it the ring of command, uttered these words in his ear—
“Close the casket, and compose your face.”
Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an urbane and tranquilpresence, and dressed with rich simplicity. This personage had risenfrom a neighbouring table, and, bringing his glass with him, had taken aseat beside Francis.
“Close the casket,” repeated the stranger, “and put it quietly back intoyour pocket, where I feel persuaded it should never have been. Try, ifyou please, to throw off your bewildered air, and act as though I wereone of your acquaintances whom you had met by chance. So! Touch glasseswith me. That is better. I fear, sir, you must be an amateur.”
And the stranger pronounced these last words with a smile of peculiarmeaning, leaned back in his seat and enjoyed a deep inhalation oftobacco.
“For God’s sake,” said Francis, “tell me who you are and what this means?Why I should obey your most unusual suggestions I am sure I know not; butthe truth is, I have fallen this evening into so many perplexingadventures, and all I meet conduct themselves so strangely, that I thinkI must either have gone mad or wandered into another planet. Your faceinspires me with confidenc
e; you seem wise, good, and experienced; tellme, for heaven’s sake, why you accost me in so odd a fashion?”
“All in due time,” replied the stranger. “But I have the first hand, andyou must begin by telling me how the Rajah’s Diamond is in yourpossession.”
“The Rajah’s Diamond!” echoed Francis.
“I would not speak so loud, if I were you,” returned the other. “Butmost certainly you have the Rajah’s Diamond in your pocket. I have seenand handled it a score of times in Sir Thomas Vandeleur’s collection.”
“Sir Thomas Vandeleur! The General! My father!” cried Francis.
“Your father?” repeated the stranger. “I was not aware the General hadany family.”
“I am illegitimate, sir,” replied Francis, with a flush.
The other bowed with gravity. It was a respectful bow, as of a mansilently apologising to his equal; and Francis felt relieved andcomforted, he scarce knew why. The society of this person did him good;he seemed to touch firm ground; a strong feeling of respect grew up inhis bosom, and mechanically he removed his wideawake as though in thepresence of a superior.
“I perceive,” said the stranger, “that your adventures have not all beenpeaceful. Your collar is torn, your face is scratched, you have a cutupon your temple; you will, perhaps, pardon my curiosity when I ask youto explain how you came by these injuries, and how you happen to havestolen property to an enormous value in your pocket.”
“I must differ from you!” returned Francis hotly. “I possess no stolenproperty. And if you refer to the diamond, it was given to me not anhour ago by Miss Vandeleur in the Rue Lepic.”
“By Miss Vandeleur of the Rue Lepic!” repeated the other. “You interestme more than you suppose. Pray continue.”
“Heavens!” cried Francis.
His memory had made a sudden bound. He had seen Mr. Vandeleur take anarticle from the breast of his drugged visitor, and that article, he wasnow persuaded, was a morocco case.
“You have a light?” inquired the stranger.
“Listen,” replied Francis. “I know not who you are, but I believe you tobe worthy of confidence and helpful; I find myself in strange waters; Imust have counsel and support, and since you invite me I shall tell youall.”
And he briefly recounted his experiences since the day when he wassummoned from the bank by his lawyer.
“Yours is indeed a remarkable history,” said the stranger, after theyoung man had made an end of his narrative; “and your position is full ofdifficulty and peril. Many would counsel you to seek out your father,and give the diamond to him; but I have other views. Waiter!” he cried.
The waiter drew near.
“Will you ask the manager to speak with me a moment?” said he; andFrancis observed once more, both in his tone and manner, the evidence ofa habit of command.
The waiter withdrew, and returned in a moment with manager, who bowedwith obsequious respect.
“What,” said he, “can I do to serve you?”
“Have the goodness,” replied the stranger, indicating Francis, “to tellthis gentleman my name.”
“You have the honour, sir,” said the functionary, addressing youngScrymgeour, “to occupy the same table with His Highness Prince Florizelof Bohemia.”
Francis rose with precipitation, and made a grateful reverence to thePrince, who bade him resume his seat.
“I thank you,” said Florizel, once more addressing the functionary; “I amsorry to have deranged you for so small a matter.”
And he dismissed him with a movement of his hand.
“And now,” added the Prince, turning to Francis, “give me the diamond.”
Without a word the casket was handed over.
“You have done right,” said Florizel, “your sentiments have properlyinspired you, and you will live to be grateful for the misfortunes ofto-night. A man, Mr. Scrymgeour, may fall into a thousand perplexities,but if his heart be upright and his intelligence unclouded, he will issuefrom them all without dishonour. Let your mind be at rest; your affairsare in my hand; and with the aid of heaven I am strong enough to bringthem to a good end. Follow me, if you please, to my carriage.”
So saying the Prince arose and, having left a piece of gold for thewaiter, conducted the young man from the café and along the Boulevard towhere an unpretentious brougham and a couple of servants out of liveryawaited his arrival.
“This carriage,” said he, “is at your disposal; collect your baggage asrapidly as you can make it convenient, and my servants will conduct youto a villa in the neighbourhood of Paris where you can wait in somedegree of comfort until I have had time to arrange your situation. Youwill find there a pleasant garden, a library of good authors, a cook, acellar, and some good cigars, which I recommend to your attention.Jérome,” he added, turning to one of the servants, “you have heard what Isay; I leave Mr. Scrymgeour in your charge; you will, I know, be carefulof my friend.”
Francis uttered some broken phrases of gratitude.
“It will be time enough to thank me,” said the Prince, “when you areacknowledged by your father and married to Miss Vandeleur.”
And with that the Prince turned away and strolled leisurely in thedirection of Montmartre. He hailed the first passing cab, gave anaddress, and a quarter of an hour afterwards, having discharged thedriver some distance lower, he was knocking at Mr. Vandeleur’s gardengate.
It was opened with singular precautions by the Dictator in person.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“You must pardon me this late visit, Mr. Vandeleur,” replied the Prince.
“Your Highness is always welcome,” returned Mr. Vandeleur, stepping back.
The Prince profited by the open space, and without waiting for his hostwalked right into the house and opened the door of the _salon_. Twopeople were seated there; one was Miss Vandeleur, who bore the marks ofweeping about her eyes, and was still shaken from time to time by a sob;in the other the Prince recognised the young man who had consulted him onliterary matters about a month before, in a club smoking-room.
“Good evening, Miss Vandeleur,” said Florizel; “you look fatigued. Mr.Rolles, I believe? I hope you have profited by the study of Gaboriau,Mr. Rolles.”
But the young clergyman’s temper was too much embittered for speech; andhe contented himself with bowing stiffly, and continued to gnaw his lip.
“To what good wind,” said Mr. Vandeleur, following his guest, “am I toattribute the honour of your Highness’s presence?”
“I am come on business,” returned the Prince; “on business with you; assoon as that is settled I shall request Mr. Rolles to accompany me for awalk. Mr. Rolles,” he added with severity, “let me remind you that Ihave not yet sat down.”
The clergyman sprang to his feet with an apology; whereupon the Princetook an armchair beside the table, handed his hat to Mr. Vandeleur, hiscane to Mr. Rolles, and, leaving them standing and thus menially employedupon his service, spoke as follows:—
“I have come here, as I said, upon business; but, had I come looking forpleasure, I could not have been more displeased with my reception normore dissatisfied with my company. You, sir,” addressing Mr. Rolles,“you have treated your superior in station with discourtesy; you,Vandeleur, receive me with a smile, but you know right well that yourhands are not yet cleansed from misconduct. I do not desire to beinterrupted, sir,” he added imperiously; “I am here to speak, and not tolisten; and I have to ask you to hear me with respect, and to obeypunctiliously. At the earliest possible date your daughter shall bemarried at the Embassy to my friend, Francis Scrymgeour, your brother’sacknowledged son. You will oblige me by offering not less than tenthousand pounds dowry. For yourself, I will indicate to you in writing amission of some importance in Siam which I destine to your care. Andnow, sir, you will answer me in two words whether or not you agree tothese conditions.”
“Your Highness will pardon me,” said Mr. Vandeleur, “and permit me, withall res
pect, to submit to him two queries?”
“The permission is granted,” replied the Prince.
“Your Highness,” resumed the Dictator, “has called Mr. Scrymgeour hisfriend. Believe me, had I known he was thus honoured, I should havetreated him with proportional respect.”
“You interrogate adroitly,” said the Prince; “but it will not serve yourturn. You have my commands; if I had never seen that gentleman beforeto-night, it would not render them less absolute.”
“Your Highness interprets my meaning with his usual subtlety,” returnedVandeleur. “Once more: I have, unfortunately, put the police upon thetrack of Mr. Scrymgeour on a charge of theft; am I to withdraw or touphold the accusation?”
“You will please yourself,” replied Florizel. “The question is onebetween your conscience and the laws of this land. Give me my hat; andyou, Mr. Rolles, give me my cane and follow me. Miss Vandeleur, I wishyou good evening. I judge,” he added to Vandeleur, “that your silencemeans unqualified assent.”
“If I can do no better,” replied the old man, “I shall submit; but I warnyou openly it shall not be without a struggle.”
“You are old,” said the Prince; “but years are disgraceful to the wicked.Your age is more unwise than the youth of others. Do not provoke me, oryou may find me harder than you dream. This is the first time that Ihave fallen across your path in anger; take care that it be the last.”
With these words, motioning the clergyman to follow, Florizel left theapartment and directed his steps towards the garden gate; and theDictator, following with a candle, gave them light, and once more undidthe elaborate fastenings with which he sought to protect himself fromintrusion.
“Your daughter is no longer present,” said the Prince, turning on thethreshold. “Let me tell you that I understand your threats; and you haveonly to lift your hand to bring upon yourself sudden and irremediableruin.”
The Dictator made no reply; but as the Prince turned his back upon him inthe lamplight he made a gesture full of menace and insane fury; and thenext moment, slipping round a corner, he was running at full speed forthe nearest cab-stand.
* * * * *
(_Here_, says my Arabian, _the thread of events is finally diverted from_THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS. _One more adventure_, he adds, _and wehave done with_ THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND. _That last link in the chain isknown among the inhabitants of Bagdad by the name of_ THE ADVENTURE OFPRINCE FLORIZEL AND A DETECTIVE.)
New Arabian Nights Page 6