THE MAN WHO DISLIKED CATS
It was Harold who first made us acquainted, when I was dining one nightat the Cafe Britannique, in Soho. It is a peculiarity of the CafeBritannique that you will always find flies there, even in winter. Snowwas falling that night as I turned in at the door, but, glancing aboutme, I noticed several of the old faces. My old acquaintance, Percy thebluebottle, looking wonderfully fit despite his years, was doing deepbreathing exercises on a mutton cutlet, and was too busy to do morethan pause for a moment to nod at me; but his cousin, Harold, alwaysactive, sighted me and bustled up to do the honours.
He had finished his game of touch-last with my right ear, and wascircling slowly in the air while he thought out other ways ofentertaining me, when there was a rush of air, a swish of napkin, andno more Harold.
I turned to thank my preserver, whose table adjoined mine. He was aFrenchman, a melancholy-looking man. He had the appearance of one whohas searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle; ofone whom the clenched fist of Fate has smitten beneath thetemperamental third waistcoat-button.
He waved my thanks aside. 'It was a bagatelle,' he said. We becamefriendly. He moved to my table, and we fraternized over our coffee.
Suddenly he became agitated. He kicked at something on the floor. Hiseyes gleamed angrily.
'Ps-s-st!' he hissed. 'Va-t'en!'
I looked round the corner of the table, and perceived the restaurantcat in dignified retreat.
'You do not like cats?' I said.
'I 'ate all animals, monsieur. Cats especially.' He frowned. He seemedto hesitate.
'I will tell you my story,' he said. 'You will sympathize. You have asympathetic face. It is the story of a man's tragedy. It is the storyof a blighted life. It is the story of a woman who would not forgive.It is the story--'
'I've got an appointment at eleven,' I said.
He nodded absently, drew at his cigarette, and began:
* * * * *
I have conceived my 'atred of animals, monsieur, many years ago inParis. Animals are to me a symbol for the lost dreams of youth, forambitions foiled, for artistic impulses cruelly stifled. You areastonished. You ask why I say these things. I shall tell you.
I am in Paris, young, ardent, artistic. I wish to paint pictures. I'ave the genius, the ent'usiasm. I wish to be disciple of the greatBouguereau. But no. I am dependent for support upon an uncle. He isrich. He is proprietor of the great Hotel Jules Priaulx. My name isalso Priaulx. He is not sympathetic. I say, 'Uncle, I 'ave the genius,the ent'usiasm. Permit me to paint.' He shakes his head. He say, 'Iwill give you position in my hotel, and you shall earn your living.'What choice? I weep, but I kill my dreams, and I become cashier at myuncle's hotel at a salary of thirty-five francs a week. I, the artist,become a machine for the changing of money at dam bad salary. Whatwould you? What choice? I am dependent. I go to the hotel, and there Ilearn to 'ate all animals. Cats especially.
I will tell you the reason. My uncle's hotel is fashionable hotel. RichAmericans, rich Maharajahs, rich people of every nation come to myuncle's hotel. They come, and with them they have brought their pets.Monsieur, it was the existence of a nightmare. Wherever I have lookedthere are animals. Listen. There is an Indian prince. He has with himtwo dromedaries. There is also one other Indian prince. With him is agiraffe. The giraffe drink every day one dozen best champagne to keephis coat good. I, the artist, have my bock, and my coat is not good.There is a guest with a young lion. There is a guest with an alligator.But especially there is a cat. He is fat. His name is Alexander. Hebelongs to an American woman. She is fat. She exhibits him to me. He iswrapped in a silk and fur creation like an opera cloak. Every day sheexhibits him. It is 'Alexander this' and 'Alexander that', till I 'ateAlexander very much. I 'ate all the animals, but especially Alexander.
And so, monsieur, it goes on, day by day, in this hotel that is aZoological Garden. And every day I 'ate the animals the more. Butespecially Alexander.
We artists, monsieur, we are martyrs to our nerves. It becameinsupportable, this thing. Each day it became more insupportable. Atnight I dream of all the animals, one by one--the giraffe, the twodromedaries, the young lion, the alligator, and Alexander. EspeciallyAlexander. You have 'eard of men who cannot endure the society of acat--how they cry out and jump in the air if a cat is among thosepresent. _Hein_? Your Lord Roberts? Precisely, monsieur. I haveread so much. Listen, then. I am become by degrees almost like 'im. Ido not cry out and jump in the air when I see the cat Alexander, but Igrind my teeth and I 'ate 'im.
Yes, I am the sleeping volcano, and one morning, monsieur, I havesuffered the eruption. It is like this. I shall tell you.
Not only at that time am I the martyr to nerves, but also to toothache.That morning I 'ave 'ad the toothache very bad. I 'ave been in pain themost terrible. I groan as I add up the figures in my book.
As I groan I 'ear a voice.
'Say good morning to M. Priaulx, Alexander.' Conceive my emotions,monsieur, when this fat, beastly cat is placed before me upon my desk!
It put the cover upon it. No, that is not the phrase. The lid. It putthe lid upon it. All my smothered 'atred of the animal burst forth. Icould no longer conceal my 'atred.
I rose. I was terrible. I seized 'im by the tail. I flung him--I didnot know where. I did not care. Not then. Afterwards, yes, but notthen.
Your Longfellow has a poem. 'I shot an arrow into the air. It fell toearth, I know not where.' And then he has found it. The arrow in the'eart of a friend. Am I right? Also was that the tragedy with me. Iflung the cat Alexander. My uncle, on whom I am dependent, is passingat the moment. He has received the cat in the middle of his face.
My companion, with the artist's instinct for the 'curtain', paused. Helooked round the brightly-lit restaurant. From every side arose theclatter of knife and fork, and the clear, sharp note of those who dranksoup. In a distant corner a small waiter with a large voice was callingthe cook names through the speaking-tube. It was a cheerful scene, butit brought no cheer to my companion. He sighed heavily and resumed:
* * * * *
I 'urry over that painful scene. There is blooming row. My uncle is'ot-tempered man. The cat is 'eavy cat. I 'ave thrown 'im very hard,for my nerves and my toothache and my 'atred 'ave given me the giant'sstrength. Alone is this enough to enrage my 'ot-tempered uncle. I amthere in his hotel, you will understand, as cashier, not ascat-thrower. And now, besides all this, I have insulted valuablepatron. She 'ave left the hotel that day.
There are no doubts in my mind as to the outcome. With certainty Iawait my _conge_. And after painful scene I get it. I am to go. Atonce. He 'ave assured the angry American woman that I go at once.
He has called me into his private office. 'Jean,' he has said to me, atthe end of other things, 'you are a fool, dolt, no-good imbecile. Igive you good place in my hotel, and you spend your time flinging cats.I will 'ave no more of you. But even now I cannot forget that you aremy dear brother's child. I will now give you one thousand francs andnever see you again.'
I have thanked him, for to me it is wealth. Not before have I ever hadone thousand francs of my own.
I go out of the hotel. I go to a _cafe_ and order a bock. I smokea cigarette. It is necessary that I think out plans. Shall I with myone thousand francs rent a studio in the Quarter and commence my lifeas artist? No. I have still the genius, the ent'usiasm, but I have notthe training. To train myself to paint pictures I must study long, andeven one thousand francs will not last for ever. Then what shall I do?I do not know. I order one other bock, and smoke more cigarettes, butstill I do not know.
And then I say to myself, 'I will go back to my uncle, and plead withhim. I will seize favourable opportunity. I will approach him afterdinner when he is in good temper. But for that I must be close at hand.I must be--what's your expression?--"Johnny-on-the-spot".'
My mind is made up. I have my plan.
I have gone back to my uncle's
hotel, and I have engaged not tooexpensive bedroom. My uncle does not know. He still is in his privateoffice. I secure my room.
I dine cheaply that night, but I go to theatre and also to supper afterthe theatre, for have I not my thousand francs? It is late when I reachmy bedroom.
I go to bed. I go to sleep.
But I do not sleep long. I am awakened by a voice.
It is a voice that says, 'Move and I shoot! Move and I shoot!' I liestill. I do not move. I am courageous, but I am unarmed.
And the voice says again, 'Move and I shoot!' Is it robbers? Is it somemarauder who has made his way to my room to plunder me?
I do not know. Per'aps I think yes.
'Who are you?' I have asked.
There is no answer.
I take my courage in my 'ands. I leap from my bed. I dash for the door.No pistol has been fire. I have reached the passage, and have shoutedfor assistance.
Hotel officials run up. Doors open. 'What is it?' voices cry.
'There is in my room an armed robber,' I assure them.
And then I have found--no, I am mistaken. My door, you will understand,is open. And as I have said these words, a large green parrot comes'opping out. My assassin is nothing but a green parrot.
'Move and I shoot!' it has said to those gathered in the corridor. Itthen has bitten me in the 'and and passed on.
I am chagrined, monsieur. But only for a moment. Then I forget mychagrin. For a voice from a door that 'as opened says with joy, 'It ismy Polly, which I 'ave this evening lost!'
I turn. I gasp for admiration. It is a beautiful lady in a pinkdressing-gown which 'ave spoken these words.
She has looked at me. I 'ave looked at her. I forget everything butthat she is adorable. I forget those who stand by. I forget that theparrot has bitten me in the 'and. I forget even that I am standingthere in pyjamas, with on my feet nothing. I can only gaze at her andworship.
I have found words.
'Mademoiselle,' I have said, 'I am rejoiced that I have been the meansof restoring to you your bird.'
She has thanked me with her eyes, and then with words also. I ambewitched. She is divine. I care not that my feet are cold. I couldwish to stand there talking all night.
She has given a cry of dismay.
'Your 'and! It is wounded!'
I look at my 'and. Yes, it is bleeding, where the bird 'ave bitten it.
'Tchut, mademoiselle,' I have said. 'It is a bagatelle.'
But no. She is distressed. She is what your poet Scott 'ave said, aministering angel thou. She 'ave torn her 'andkerchief and is bindingup my wound. I am enchanted. Such beauty! Such kindness! 'Ardly can Iresist to fall on my knees before 'er and declare my passion.
We are twin souls. She has thanked me again. She has scolded theparrot. She has smiled upon me as she retires to her room. It isenough. Nothing is said, but I am a man of sensibility and discernment,and I understand that she will not be offended if I seek to renew ourfriendship on a more suitable occasion.
The doors shut. The guests have returned to bed, the hotel servants totheir duties. And I go back to my room. But not to sleep. It is verylate, but I do not sleep. I lie awake and think of 'er.
You will conceive, Monsieur, with what mixed feelings I descend nextmorning. On the one 'and, I must keep the sharp look-out for my uncle,for 'im I must avoid till he shall have--what do you say in youridiom? Yes, I have it--simmered down and tucked in his shirt. On theother 'and, I must watch for my lady of the parrot. I count the minutestill we shall meet again.
I avoid my uncle with success, and I see 'er about the hour of_dejeuner_. She is talking to old gentleman. I have bowed. Shehave smiled and motioned me to approach.
'Father,' she has said, 'this is the gentleman who caught Polly.'
We have shaken hands. He is indulgent papa. He has smiled and thankedme also. We have confided to each other our names. He is English. Heowns much land in England. He has been staying in Paris. He is rich.His name is 'Enderson. He addresses his daughter, and call her Marion.In my 'eart I also call her Marion. You will perceive that I am, as yousay, pretty far gone.
The hour of _dejeuner_ has arrived. I entreat them to be myguests. I can run to it, you understand, for there are still in mypockets plenty of my uncle's francs. They consent. I am in 'eaven.
All is well. Our friendship has progressed with marvellous speed. Theold gentleman and I are swiftly the dear old pals. I 'ave confided to'im my dreams of artistic fame, and he has told me 'ow much he dislikesyour Lloyd George. He has mentioned that he and Miss Marion depart forLondon that day. I am desolate. My face tumbles. He has observed mydespair. He has invited me to visit them in London.
Imagine my chagrin. To visit them in London is the one thing I desireto do. But how? I accept gratefully, but I ask myself how it is to bedone? I am poor blighter with no profession and nine 'undred francs. He'as taken it for granted that I am wealthy.
What shall I do? I spend the afternoon trying to form a plan. And thenI am resolved. I will go to my uncle and say: 'Uncle, I have themagnificent chance to marry the daughter of wealthy English landowner.Already I 'ave her gratitude. Soon--for I am young, 'andsome,debonair--I shall 'ave her love. Give me one more chance, uncle. Bedecent old buck, and put up the money for this affair.'
These words I have resolved to say to my uncle.
I go back to the hotel. I enter his private office. I reveal no secretwhen I say that he is not cordial.
'Ten thousand devils!' he has cried. 'What do you here?'
I 'asten to tell him all, and plead with him to be decent old buck. Hedoes not believe.
Who is he? he asks. This English landowner? How did I meet him? Andwhere?
I tell him. He is amazed.
'You 'ad the infernal impudence to take room in my hotel?' he hascried.
I am crafty. I am diplomat.
'Where else, dear uncle?' I say. 'In all Paris there is no such 'omefrom 'ome. The cuisine--marvellous! The beds--of rose-leaves! Theattendance--superb! If only for one night, I have said to myself, Imust stay in this of all hotels.'
I 'ave--what do you say?--touched the spot.
'In what you say,' he has said, more calmly, 'there is certainlysomething. It is a good hotel, this of mine!'
The only hotel, I have assured him. The Meurice? _Chut!_ I snap myfingers. The Ritz? Bah! Once again I snap my fingers. 'In all Paristhere is no hotel like this.'
He 'as simmered down. His shirt is tucked in. 'Tell me again this planof yours, Jean.'
When I leave 'im we have come to an understanding. It is agreed betweenus that I am to 'ave one last chance. He will not spoil this promisingship for the 'a'porth of tar. He will give me money for my purpose. Buthe has said, as we part, if I fail, his 'ands shall be washed of me. Hecannot now forget that I am his dear brother's child; but if I fail toaccomplish the conquest of the divine Miss Marion, he thinks he will beable to.
It is well. A week later I follow the 'Endersons to London.
For the next few days, monsieur, I am in Paradise. My 'ost has muchnice 'ouse in Eaton Square. He is rich, popular. There is much society.And I--I have the _succes fou_. I am young, 'andsome, debonair. Icannot speak the English very well--not so well as I now speak 'im--butI manage. I get along. I am intelligent, amiable. Everyone loves me.
No, not everyone. Captain Bassett, he does not love me. And why?Because he loves the charming Miss Marion, and observes that already Iam succeeding with her like a 'ouse on fire. He is _ami defamille_. He is captain in your Garde Ecossais, and my 'ost told me'e has distinguished himself as soldier pretty much. It may be so. Assoldier, per'aps. But at conversation he is not so good. He is quitenice fellow, you understand--'andsome, yes; distinguished, yes. But hedoes not sparkle. He has not my _verve_, my _elan_. I--how doyou say?--I make the rings round him.
But, _Chut_! At that moment I would have made the rings round the'ole British Army. Yes, and also the Corps Diplomatique. For I aminspired. Love 'as inspired me. I am conqueror.
Almost could I tell it in four words. In them one would say that it isset forth. There was in London at that time popular a song, a comic,vulgar song of the 'Alls, 'The Cat Came Back'. You 'ave 'eard it? Yes?I 'eard it myself, and without emotion. It had no sinister warning forme. It did not strike me as omen. Yet, in those four words, monsieur,is my tragedy.
How? I shall tell you. Every word is a sword twisted in my 'eart, but Ishall tell you.
One afternoon we are at tea. All is well. I am vivacious, gay; MissMarion, charming, gracious. There is present also an aunt, Mr'Enderson's sister; but 'er I do not much notice. It is to Marion Ispeak--both with my lips and also with my eyes.
As we sit, Captain Bassett is announced.
He has entered. We have greeted each other politely but coldly, for weare rivals. There is in his manner also a something which I do not muchlike--a species of suppressed triumph, of elation.
I am uneasy--but only yet vaguely, you will understand. I have not theforeboding that he is about to speak my death-sentence.
He addresses Miss Marion. There is joy in his voice. 'Miss 'Enderson,'he has said, 'I have for you the bally good news. You will remember,isn't it, the cat belonging to the American woman in the hotel atParis, of which you have spoken to me? Last night at dinner I have beenseated beside her. At first I am not certain is it she. Then I say thatthere cannot be two Mrs Balderstone Rockmettlers in Europe, so Imention to her the cat. And, to cut the long story short, I haveventured to purchase for you as a little present the cat Alexander.'
I have uttered a cry of horror, but it is not 'eard because of MissMarion's cry of joy.
'Oh, Captain Bassett,' she has said, 'how very splendid of you! Eversince I first saw him have I loved Alexander. I cannot tell you howgrateful I am. But it amazes me that you should have been able toinduce her to part with 'im. In Paris she has refused all my offers.'
He has paused, embarrassed.
'The fact is,' he has said, 'there is between her and Alexander acertain coolness. He 'as deceived 'er, and she loves him no more.Immediately upon arrival in London, he had the misfortune to 'ave sixfine kittens. 'Owever, out of evil cometh good, and I have thus beenable to secure 'im for you. 'E is downstairs in a basket!'
Miss Marion 'as rung the bell and commanded for him to be broughtinstantly.
I will not describe the meeting, monsieur. You are sympathetic. Youwill understand my feelings. Let us 'urry on.
Figure yourself, monsieur, to what extent I was now 'arassed. I amartist. I am a man of nerves. I cannot be gay, brilliant, debonair inthe presence of a cat. Yet always the cat is there. It is terrible.
I feel that I am falling behind in the race. 'Er gratitude has made herthe more gracious to Captain Bassett. She smiles upon him. And, likeChanticleer at the sight of the sun, he flaps his wings and crows. Heis no longer the silent listener. It is I who have become the silentlistener.
I have said to myself that something must be done.
Chance has shown me the way. One afternoon I am by fortune alone in the'all. In his cage the parrot Polly is 'opping. I address him throughthe bars.
'Move and I shoot I' he has cried.
The tears have filled my eyes. 'Ow it has brought the 'ole scene backto me!
As I weep, I perceive the cat Alexander approaching.
I have formed a plan. I have opened the cage-door and released theparrot. The cat, I think, will attack the parrot of which Miss'Enderson is so fond. She will love him no more. He will be expelled.
* * * * *
He paused. I suppose my face must have lost some of its allegedsympathy as he set forth this fiendish plot. Even Percy the bluebottleseemed shocked. He had settled on the sugar-bowl, but at these words herose in a marked manner and left the table.
'You do not approve?' he said.
I shrugged my shoulders.
'It's no business of mine,' I said. 'But don't you think yourself itwas playing it a bit low down? Didn't the thought present itself to youin a shadowy way that it was rather rough on the bird?'
'It did, monsieur. But what would you? It is necessary to break eggs inorder to make an omelette. All is fair, you say, in love and war, andthis was both. Moreover, you must understand, I do not dictate hismovements to the parrot. He is free agent. I do but open the cage-door.Should he 'op out and proceed to the floor where is the cat, that ishis affair. I shall continue, yes?'
* * * * *
_Alors!_ I open the cage-door and disappear discreetly. It is notpolitic that I remain to witness what shall transpire. It is for me toestablish an alibi. I go to the drawing-room, where I remain.
At dinner that night Mr 'Enderson has laughed.
'In the 'all this afternoon,' he has said, 'I have seen by chance thedickens of a funny occurrence. That parrot of yours, Marion, hadescaped once again from its cage and was 'aving an argument with thatcat which Captain Bassett has given to you.'
'Oh! I hope that Alexander 'as not hurt poor Polly, of whom I am veryfond,' she has said.
'The affair did not come to blows,' has said Mr 'Enderson. 'You maytrust that bird to take care of himself, my dear. When I came upon thescene the cat was crouching in a corner, with his fur bristling and hisback up, while Polly, standing before 'im, was telling 'im not to moveor he would shoot. Nor did he move, till I 'ad seized the parrot andreplaced him in the cage, when he shot upstairs like a streak oflightning. By sheer force of character that excellent bird 'ad won thebloodless victory. I drink to 'im!'
You can conceive my emotion as I listen to this tale. I am like thepoet's mice and men whose best-kid schemes have gone away. I ambaffled. I am discouraged. I do not know what I shall do. I must findanother plan, but I do not know what.
How shall I remove the cat? Shall I kill 'im? No, for I might besuspect.
Shall I 'ire someone to steal 'im? No, for my accomplice might betrayme.
Shall I myself steal 'im? Ah! that is better. That is a very good plan.
Soon I have it perfected, this plan. Listen, monsieur; it is asfollows. It is simple, but it is good. I will await my opportunity. Iwill remove the cat secretly from the 'ouse. I will take him to anoffice of the District Messenger Boys. I will order a messenger tocarry him at once to the Cats' House, and to request M. le Directeurimmediately to destroy him. It is a simple plan, but it is good.
I carry it through without a 'itch. It is not so difficult to securethe cat. 'E is asleep in the drawing-room. There is nobody at hand. Ihave in my bedroom a 'at-box which I have brought from Paris. I havebrought it with me to the drawing-room. I have placed in it the cat. Ihave escaped from the 'ouse. The cat has uttered a cry, but none has'eard. I have reached the office of the District Messenger Boys. I have'anded over the cat in its box. The manager is courteous, sympathetic.A messenger has started in a cab for the Cats' House. I have breatheda sigh of relief. I am saved.
That is what I say to myself as I return. My troubles are over, andonce more I can be gay, debonair, vivacious with Miss Marion, for nolonger will there be present the cat Alexander to 'arass me.
When I have returned there is commotion in the 'ouse. I pass on thestairs domestics calling 'Puss, puss!' The butler is chirruping loudlyand poking beneath the furniture with a umbrella. All is confusion andagitation.
In the drawing-room is Miss Marion. She is distressed.
'Nowhere,' she has said, 'can there be found the cat Alexander of whomI am so fond. Nowhere in the 'ouse is he, Where can he be? He is lost.'
I am gentle, sympathetic. I endeavour to console her. I 'int to herthat am I not sufficient substitute for a beastly cat? She is, however,inconsolable. I must be patient. I must wait my time.
Captain Bassett is announced. He is informed of what has 'appened. Heis
distressed. He has the air as if he, too, would endeavour to begentle, sympathetic. But I am Johnny-on-the-spot. I stay till he 'asgone.
Next day again it is 'Puss, puss!' Again the butler has explored underthe furniture with the umbrella. Again Miss Marion is distressed. Again'ave I endeavoured to console.
This time I think I am not so unsuccessful. I am, you understand,young, 'andsome, sympathetic. In another two ticks I am about to seize'er 'and and declare my passion.
But, before I can do so, Captain Bassett is announced.
I gaze at him as at unsuccessful rival. I am confident. I am conqueror.Ah, I little know! It is in the moments of our highest 'ope, monsieur,that we are destroyed.
Captain Bassett, he, too, 'as the air of the conqueror.
He has begun to speak.
'Miss 'Enderson,' he has said, 'I have once more the bally good news. Irather fancy that I 'ave tracked down the missing Alexander, do you notknow?'
Miss Marion 'as cried out with joy. But I am calm, for is not Alexanderalready yesterday destroyed?
'It is like this,' he has resumed. 'I have thought to myself where islost cat most likely to be? And I have answered, "In the Cats' House."I go this morning to the Cats' House, and there I see a cat which iseither lost Alexander or his living image. Exactly is he the same toall appearances as the lost Alexander. But there is, when I try topurchase 'im, some curious 'itch which they do not explain. They must'ave time, they say, to consider. They cannot at once decide.'
'Why, what nonsense!' Miss Marion 'ave cried. 'If the cat is my cat,surely then must they return 'im to me! Come,' she has said, 'let usall three at once in a taxi-cab go to the Cats' House. If the all threeof us identify the lost Alexander, then must they return 'im.'
Monsieur, I am uneasy. I have foreboding. But I go. What choice? We goin a taxi-cab to the Cats' House.
The _directeur_ is courteous and sympathetic. He has introduced usto the cat, and my 'eart 'as turned to water, for it is Alexander. Whyhas he not been destroyed?
The _directeur_ is speaking. I 'ear him in a dream.
'If you identify 'im as your cat, miss,' he has said, 'the matter isended. My 'esitation when you, sir, approached me this morning on thematter was due to the fact that a messenger was sent with instructionsthat he be destroyed at once.'
'Rather rough, wasn't it, that, on the messenger, yes,' Captain Bassetthas said. He is facetious, you understand, for he is conqueror.
I am silent. I am not facetious. For already I feel--how do yousay?--my fowl is cooked.
'Not the messenger, sir,' the _directeur_ has said. 'You 'avemisunderstood me. It was the cat which was to be destroyed as perinstructions of the anonymous sender.'
'Who could have played such a wicked trick?' Miss Marion has asked,indignant.
The _directeur_ has stooped, and from behind a table he hasbrought a 'at-box.
'In this,' he has said, 'the above animal was conveyed. But with it wasno accompanying letter. The sender was anonymous.'
'Per'aps,' Captain Bassett has said--and still more in a dream I 'earhim--'per'aps on the 'at-box there is some bally name or other, do younot know--what?'
I clutch at the table. The room is spinning round and round. I have nostomach--only emptiness.
'Why, bless me,' the _directeur_ has said, 'you're quite right,sir. So there is. Funny of me not to have before observed it. There isa name, and also an address. It is the name of Jean Priaulx, and theaddress is the Hotel Jules Priaulx, Paris.'
My companion stopped abruptly. He passed a handkerchief over hisforehead. With a quick movement he reached for his glass of liqueurbrandy and drained it at a gulp.
'Monsieur,' he said, 'you will not wish me to describe the scene? Thereis no need for me--_hein?_--to be Zolaesque. You can imagine?'
'She chucked you?' In moments of emotion it is the simplest languagethat comes to the lips.
He nodded.
'And married Captain Bassett?'
He nodded again.
'And your uncle?' I said. 'How did he take it?'
He sighed.
'There was once more,' he said, 'blooming row, monsieur.'
'He washed his hands of you?'
'Not altogether. He was angry, but he gave me one more chance. I amstill 'is dear brother's child, and he cannot forget it. Anacquaintance of his, a man of letters, a M. Paul Sartines, was in needof a secretary. The post was not well paid, but it was permanent. Myuncle insist that I take it. What choice? I took it. It is the postwhich I still 'old.'
He ordered another liqueur brandy and gulped it down.
'The name is familiar to you, monsieur? You 'ave 'eard of M. Sartines?'
'I don't think I have. Who is he?'
'He is a man of letters, a _savant_. For five years he has beenoccupied upon a great work. It is with that that I assist him bycollecting facts for 'is use. I 'ave spent this afternoon in theBritish Museum collecting facts. Tomorrow I go again. And the next day.And again after that. The book will occupy yet another ten years beforeit is completed. It is his great work.'
'It sounds as if it was,' I said. 'What's it about?'
He signalled to the waiter.
'_Garcon_, one other liqueur brandy. The book, monsieur, is a'_Istory of the Cat in Ancient Egypt._'
The Man Upstairs and Other Stories Page 7