by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER III
MR. SAFFRON AT HOME
To put it plainly, Sergeant Hooper--he had been a sergeant for a briefand precarious three weeks, but he used the title in civil life wheneverhe safely could--and he could at Inkston--Sergeant Hooper was avillainous-looking dog. Beaumaroy, fresh from the comely presences ofOld Place, unconscious of how the General had ripped up his characterand record, pleasantly nursing a little project concerning Dr. MaryArkroyd, had never been more forcibly struck with his protege'sill-favouredness than when he arrived home on this same evening, and theSergeant met him at the door.
"By Gad, Sergeant," he observed pleasantly, "I don't think anybody couldbe such a rascal as you look. It's that faith that carries me through."
The Sergeant helped him off with his coat. "It's some people'sstock-in-trade," he remarked, "not to look a rascal like they reallyare, sir." The "sir" stuck--out of pure habit; it carried no realimplication of respect.
"Meaning me!" laughed Beaumaroy. "How is the old man to-night?"
"Quiet enough. He's in the Tower there--been there an hour or more."
The cottage door opened on to a narrow passage, with a staircase on oneside, and on the other a door leading to a small square parlour,cheerfully if cheaply furnished, and well lit by an oil lamp. A fireblazed on the hearth, and Beaumaroy sank into a "saddle-bag" arm-chairbeside it, with a sigh of comfort. The Sergeant had jerked his headtowards another door, on the right of the fireplace; it led to theTower. Beaumaroy's eyes settled on it.
"An hour or more, has he? Have you heard anything?"
"He was making a speech a little while back, that's all."
"No more complaints of palpitations, or anything of that sort?"
"Not as I've heard. But he never says much to me. Mrs. Wiles gets thebenefit of his symptoms mostly."
"You're not sympathetic, perhaps."
During the talk Hooper had been to a cupboard and mixed a glass ofwhisky and soda. He brought it to Beaumaroy and put it on a small tableby him. Beaumaroy regarded his squat paunchy figure, red face, smalleyes (a squint in one of them), and bulbous nose with a patient andbenign toleration.
"Since you can't expect, Sergeant, to prepossess the Judge and Jury inyour favour, the instant you make your appearance in the box----"
"Here, what are you on to, sir?"
"It's the more important for you to have it clearly in your mind that weare labouring in the cause of humanity, freedom, and justice. Exactlylike the Allies in the late war, you know, Sergeant. Keep that in yourmind--clinch it! He hasn't wanted you to do anything particularto-night--or asked for me?"
"No, sir. He's happy with--with what you call his playthings."
"What are they but playthings?" asked Beaumaroy, tilting his glass tohis lips with a smile perhaps a little wry.
"Only I wish as you wouldn't talk about judges and juries," the Sergeantcomplained.
"I really don't know whether it's a civil or a criminal matter, or both,or neither," Beaumaroy admitted candidly. "But what we do know,Sergeant, is that it provides us with excellent billets and rations.Moreover--a thing that you certainly will not appreciate--it gratifiesmy taste for the mysterious."
"I hope there's a bit more coming from it than that," said theSergeant. "That is, if we stick together faithful, sir."
"Oh, we shall! One thing puzzles me about you, Sergeant. I don't thinkI've mentioned it before. Sometimes you speak almost like an educatedman; at others your speech is--well, illiterate."
"Well, sir, it's a sort of mixture of my mother--she was class--theblighter who come after my father, and the board school----"
"Of course! What they call the educational ladder! That explains it. Bythe way, I'm thinking of changing our doctor."
"Good job too. I 'ate that Irechester. Stares at you, that chap does."
"Does he stare at your eyes?" asked Beaumaroy thoughtfully.
"I don't know that he does at _my_ eyes particularly. Nothing wrong with'em, is there?" The Sergeant sounded rather truculent.
"Never mind that; but I fancied he stared at Mr. Saffron's. And I'veread somewhere, in some book or other, that doctors can tell, or guess,by the eyes----Well, that's only an idea. How does a lady doctor appealto you, Sergeant?"
"I should be shy," said the Sergeant, grinning.
"Vulgar! Vulgar!" Beaumaroy murmured.
"That Dr. Mary Arkroyd?"
"I had thought of her."
"She ought to be fair easy to kid. You 'ave notions sometimes, sir."
Beaumaroy stretched out his legs--debonnair, well-rounded legs--to theseducing blaze of oak logs.
"I haven't really a care in the world," he said.
The Sergeant's reply--or comment--had a disconcerting ring. "And you'resure of 'eaven? That's what the bloke always says to the 'angman."
"I've no intention of being a murderer, Sergeant." Beaumaroy's eyebrowswere raised in gentle protest.
"Once you're in with a job, you never know," his retainer observeddarkly.
Beaumaroy laughed. "Oh, go to the devil!--and mix me another whisky."Yet a vague uneasiness showed itself on his face; he looked across theroom at the evil-shaped man handling the bottles in the cupboard. Hemade one queer restless movement of his arms--as though to free himself.Then, in a moment, he sprang from his chair, a glad kindly smileilluminating his face; he bowed in a very courtly fashion, exclaiming,"Ah, here you are, sir? And all well, I hope?"
Mr. Saffron had entered from the door leading to the Tower, carefullyclosing it after him. Hooper's hand went up to his forehead in the ghostof a military salute, but a sneering smile persisted on his lips. Theonly notice Mr. Saffron took of him was a jerk of the head towards thepassage, an abrupt and ungracious dismissal, which, however, theSergeant silently accepted and stumped out. The greeting reserved forBeaumaroy was vastly different. Beaumaroy's own cordiality was more thanreciprocated. It seemed impossible to doubt that a genuine affectionexisted between the elder and the younger man, though the latter had notthought fit to mention the fact to Sergeant Hooper.
"A tiring day, my dear Hector, very tiring. I've transacted a lot ofbusiness. But never mind that, it will keep. What of your doings?"
Having sat the old man in the big chair by the fire, Beaumaroy saunteredacross to the door of the Tower, locked it, and put the key in hispocket. Then he returned to the fire, and, standing in front of it, gavea lively and detailed account of his visit to Old Place.
"They appear to be pleasant people, very pleasant. I should like to knowthem, if it was not desirable for me to live an entirely secluded life."Mr. Saffron's speech was very distinct and clean-cut, rather rapid, highin tone, but not disagreeable. "You make pure fun of this Miss Wall, asyou do of so many things, Hector, but----" he smiled up atBeaumaroy--"inquisitiveness is not our favourite sin just now!"
"She's so indiscriminately inquisitive that it's a thousand to oneagainst her really finding out anything of importance, sir." Beaumaroysometimes addressed his employer as "Mr. Saffron," but much morecommonly he used the respectful "sir." "I think I'm equal to puttingMiss Delia Wall off."
"Still she noticed our weekly journeys!"
"Half Inkston goes to town every day, sir--and the rest three times,twice, or once a week. I called her particular attention to the bag, andtold her it was for books from Mudie's!"
"Positive statements like that are a mistake." Mr. Saffron spoke with asudden sharpness, in pointed rebuke. "If I form a right idea of thatwoman, she's quite capable of going to Mudie's to ask about us."
"By Jove, you're right, sir, and I was wrong. We'd better go and takeout a subscription to-morrow; she'll hardly go so far as to ask the datewe started it."
"Yes, let that be done. And--remember--no unnecessary talk." His tonegrew milder, as though he were mollified by Beaumaroy's ready submissionto his reproof. "We have some places to call at to-morrow, have we?"
"They said they'd have some useful addresses ready for us, sir. I'mafraid, though, that we're exhausting the
most obvious sources."
"Still, I hope for a few more good consignments. I suppose you remainconfident that the Sergeant has no suspicions as regards that particularaspect of the matter?"
"I'm sure of it--up to the present. Of course there might be anaccident, but with him and Mrs. Wiles both off the premises at night,it's hardly likely; and I never let the bag out of my sight while it'sin the room with them--hardly out of my hand."
"I should like to trust him, but it's hardly fair to put such a strainon his loyalty."
"Much safer not, sir, as long as we're not driven to it. After all,though I believe the fellow is out to redeem his character, his isn't anunblemished record."
"But the work--the physical labour--entailed on you, Hector!"
"Make yourself easy about that, sir. I'm as strong as a horse. Thework's good for me. Remember I've had four years' service."
Mr. Saffron smiled pensively. "It would have been funny if we'dmet--over there, you and I!"
"It would, sir," laughed Beaumaroy. "But that could hardly have happenedwithout some very curious accident."
The old man harked back. "Yes, a few more good consignments, and we canthink in earnest of your start." He was warming his hands--thinyellowish hands--at the fire now, and his gaze was directed into it.Looking down on him, Beaumaroy allowed a smile to appear on his lips--aqueer smile, which seemed to be compounded of affection, pity, andamusement.
"The difficulties there remain considerable for the present," heremarked.
"They must be overcome." Once again the old man's voice became sharp andeven dictatorial.
"They shall be, sir--depend on it." Beaumaroy's air was suddenlyconfident, almost braggart. Mr. Saffron nodded approvingly. "But,anyhow, I can't very well start till favourable news comes from----"
"Hush!" There was a knock on the door.
"Mrs. Wiles--to lay the table, I suppose."
"Yes! Come in!" He added hastily to Beaumaroy, in an undertone, "Yes, wemust wait for that."
Mrs. Wiles entered as he spoke. She was a colourless, negative kind of awoman, fair, fat, flabby, and forty or thereabouts. She had been theill-used slave of a local carpenter, now deceased by reason ofover-drinking; her nature was to be the slave of the nearest malecreature, not from affection (her affections were anaemic), but rather,as it seemed, from an instinctive desire to shuffle off from herselfany responsibility. But at all events she was entirely free from MissDelia Wall's proclivity.
Mr. Saffron rose. "I'll go and wash my hands. We'll dine just as we are,Hector." Beaumaroy opened the door for him; he acknowledged theattention with a little nod, and passed out to the staircase in thenarrow passage. Beaumaroy appeared to consider himself absolved from anypreparations, for he returned to the big chair and, sinking into it, litanother cigarette. Meanwhile Mrs. Wiles laid the table, and presentlySergeant Hooper appeared with a bottle of golden-tinted wine.
"That, at least, is the real stuff," thought Beaumaroy, as he eyed it inpleasurable anticipation. "Where the dear old man got it, I don't know;but in itself it's almost worth all the racket."
And really, in its present stages, so far as its present developmentswent, the "racket" pleased him. It amused his active brain, besides (ashe had said to Mr. Saffron) exercising his active body, though certainlyin a rather grotesque and bizarre fashion. The attraction of it wentdeeper than that. It appealed to some of those tendencies and impulsesof his character which had earned such heavy censure from Major-GeneralPunnit and had produced so grave an expression on Captain Alec'shandsome face--without, however, being, even in that officer's exactingjudgment, disgraceful. And, finally, there was the lure of unexploredpossibilities--not only material and external, but psychological; notonly touching what others might do or what might happen to them, butraising also speculation as to what he might do, or what might happen tohim at his own hands; for example, how far he would flout authority,defy the usual, and deny the accepted. The love of rebellion, of makingfoolish the wisdom of the wise, of hampering the orderly and inexorabletreatment of people just as, according to the best modern lights, theyought to be treated--this lawless love was strong in Beaumaroy. Not as aprinciple; it was the stronger for being an instinct, a wayward instinctthat might carry him--he scarce knew where.
Mr. Saffron came back, greeted again by Beaumaroy's courtly bow andHooper's vaguely reminiscent but slovenly military salute. The pair satdown to a homely beefsteak; but the golden-tinted wine gurgled intotheir glasses. But, before they fell to, there was a little incident. Asudden, but fierce, anger seized old Mr. Saffron. In his harshest toneshe rapped out at the Sergeant, "My knife! You careless scoundrel, youhaven't given me my knife!"
Beaumaroy sprang to his feet with a muttered exclamation: "It's all myfault, sir. I forgot to give it to Hooper. I always lock it up when Igo out." He went to a little oak sideboard and unlocked a drawer, thencame back to Mr. Saffron's side. "Here it is, and I humbly apologize."
"Very good! Very good!" said the old man testily, as he took theimplement.
"Ain't anybody going to apologize to me?" asked Hooper, scowling.
"Oh, get out, Sergeant!" said Beaumaroy good-naturedly. "We can't botherabout your finer feelings." He glanced anxiously at Mr. Saffron. "Allright now, aren't you, sir?" he inquired.
Mr. Saffron drank his glass of wine. "I am perhaps too sensitive to anykind of inattention; but it's not wholly unnatural in my position,Hector."
"We both desire to be attentive and respectful, sir. Don't we, Hooper?"
"Oh my, yes!" grinned the Sergeant, showing his very ugly teeth. "It'sonly owing that we 'aven't quite been brought up in royal pallises."