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Lady Wetherby sat in her room, writing letters. The rest of thehousehold were variously employed. Roscoe Sherriff was prowlingabout the house, brooding on campaigns of publicity. DudleyPickering was walking in the grounds with Claire. In a littleshack in the woods that adjoined the high-road, which he hadconverted into a temporary studio, Lord Wetherby was working on apicture which he proposed to call 'Innocence', a study of a smallItalian child he had discovered in Washington Square. LadyWetherby, who had been taken to see the picture, had suggested'The Black Hand's Newest Recruit' as a better title than the oneselected by the artist.
It is a fact to be noted that of the entire household only LadyWetherby could fairly be described as happy. It took very little tomake Lady Wetherby happy. Fine weather, good food, and a completeabstention from classical dancing--give her these and she asked nomore. She was, moreover, delighted at Claire's engagement. Itseemed to her, for she had no knowledge of the existence of LordDawlish, a genuine manifestation of Love's Young Dream. She likedDudley Pickering and she was devoted to Claire. It made her happyto think that it was she who had brought them together.
But of the other members of the party, Dudley Pickering wasunhappy because he feared that burglars were about to raid thehouse; Roscoe Sherriff because he feared they were not; Clairebecause, now that the news of the engagement was out, it seemed tobe everybody's aim to leave her alone with Mr Pickering, whoseundiluted society tended to pall. And Lord Wetherby was unhappybecause he found Eustace, the monkey, a perpetual strain upon hisartistic nerves. It was Eustace who had driven him to his shack inthe woods. He could have painted far more comfortably in thehouse, but Eustace had developed a habit of stealing up to him andplucking the leg of his trousers; and an artist simply cannot giveof his best with that sort of thing going on.
Lady Wetherby wrote on. She was not fond of letter-writing and shehad allowed her correspondence to accumulate; but she wasdisposing of it in an energetic and conscientious way, when theentrance of Wrench, the butler, interrupted her.
Wrench had been imported from England at the request of LordWetherby, who had said that it soothed him and kept him fromfeeling home-sick to see a butler about the place. Since then hehad been hanging to the establishment as it were by a hair. Hegave the impression of being always on the point of giving notice.There were so many things connected with his position of which hedisapproved. He had made no official pronouncement of the matter,but Lady Wetherby knew that he disapproved of her classicaldancing. His last position had been with the Dowager Duchess ofWaveney, the well-known political hostess, who--even had thesomewhat generous lines on which she was built not prevented thepossibility of such a thing--would have perished rather than dancebarefooted in a public restaurant. Wrench also disapproved ofAmerica. That fact had been made plain immediately upon hisarrival in the country. He had given America one look, and thenhis mind was made up--he disapproved of it.
'If you please, m'lady!'
Lady Wetherby turned. The butler was looking even more thanusually disapproving, and his disapproval had, so to speak,crystallized, as if it had found some more concrete and definiteobjective than either barefoot dancing or the United States.
'If you please, m'lady--the hape!'
It was Wrench's custom to speak of Eustace in a tone of restraineddisgust. He disapproved of Eustace. The Dowager Duchess ofWaveney, though she kept open house for members of Parliament,would have drawn the line at monkeys.
'The hape is behaving very strange, m'lady,' said Wrench,frostily.
It has been well said that in this world there is alwayssomething. A moment before, Lady Wetherby had been feelingcompletely contented, without a care on her horizon. It wasfoolish of her to have expected such a state of things to last,for what is life but a series of sharp corners, round each ofwhich Fate lies in wait for us with a stuffed eel-skin? Somethingin the butler's manner, a sort of gloating gloom which heradiated, told her that she had arrived at one of these cornersnow.
'The hape is seated on the kitchen-sink, m'lady, throwing new-laideggs at the scullery-maid, and cook desired me to step up and askfor instructions.'
'What!' Lady Wetherby rose in agitation. 'What's he doing thatfor?' she asked, weakly.
A slight, dignified gesture was Wrench's only reply. It was nothis place to analyse the motives of monkeys.
'Throwing eggs!'
The sight of Lady Wetherby's distress melted the butler's sternreserve. He unbent so far as to supply a clue.
'As I understand from cook, m'lady, the animal appears to havetaken umbrage at a lack of cordiality on the part of the cat. Itseems that the hape attempted to fondle the cat, but the latterscratched him; being suspicious,' said Wrench, 'of his _bonafides_.' He scrutinized the ceiling with a dull eye. 'Whereupon,'he continued, 'he seized her tail and threw her with considerableforce. He then removed himself to the sink and began to hurl eggsat the scullery-maid.'
Lady Wetherby's mental eye attempted to produce a picture of thescene, but failed.
'I suppose I had better go down and see about it,' she said.
Wrench withdrew his gaze from the ceiling.
'I think it would be advisable, m'lady. The scullery-maid isalready in hysterics.'
Lady Wetherby led the way to the kitchen. She was wroth withEustace. This was just the sort of thing out of which Algie wouldbe able to make unlimited capital. It weakened her position withAlgie. There was only one thing to do--she must hush it up.
Her first glance, however, at the actual theatre of war gave herthe impression that matters had advanced beyond the hushing-upstage. A yellow desolation brooded over the kitchen. It was not somuch a kitchen as an omelette. There were eggs everywhere, fromfloor to ceiling. She crunched her way in on a carpet of oozingshells.
Her entry was a signal for a renewal on a more impressive scale ofthe uproar that she had heard while opening the door. The air wasfull of voices. The cook was expressing herself in Norwegian, theparlour-maid in what appeared to be Erse. On a chair in a cornerthe scullery-maid sobbed and whooped. The odd-job man, who was abaseball enthusiast, was speaking in terms of high praise ofEustace's combined speed and control.
The only calm occupant of the room was Eustace himself, who,either through a shortage of ammunition or through weariness ofthe pitching-arm, had suspended active hostilities, and was nowlooking down on the scene from a high shelf. There was a broodingexpression in his deep-set eyes. He massaged his right ear withthe sole of his left foot in a somewhat _distrait_ manner.
'Eustace!' cried Lady Wetherby, severely.
Eustace lowered his foot and gazed at her meditatively, then atthe odd-job man, then at the scullery-maid, whose voice rose highabove the din.
'I rather fancy, m'lady,' said Wrench, dispassionately, 'that theanimal is about to hurl a plate.'
It had escaped the notice of those present that the shelf on whichthe rioter had taken refuge was within comfortable reach of thedresser, but Eustace himself had not overlooked this importantstrategic point. As the butler spoke, Eustace picked up a plateand threw it at the scullery-maid, whom he seemed definitely tohave picked out as the most hostile of the allies. It was a fastinshoot, and hit the wall just above her head.
''At-a-boy!' said the odd-job man, reverently.
Lady Wetherby turned on him with some violence. His detachedattitude was the most irritating of the many irritating aspects ofthe situation. She paid this man a weekly wage to do odd jobs. Thecapture of Eustace was essentially an odd job. Yet, instead ofdoing it, he hung about with the air of one who has paid hishalf-dollar and bought his bag of peanuts and has now nothing todo but look on and enjoy himself.
'Why don't you catch him?' she cried.
The odd-job man came out of his trance. A sudden realization cameupon him that life was real and life was earnest, and that if hedid not wish to jeopardize a good situation he must bestirhimself. Everybody was looking at him expectantly. It seemed to bedefinitely up to him. It was imperative that, whateve
r he did, heshould do it quickly. There was an apron hanging over the back ofa chair. More with the idea of doing something than because hethought he would achieve anything definite thereby, he picked upthe apron and flung it at Eustace. Luck was with him. The apronenveloped Eustace just as he was winding up for another inshootand was off his balance. He tripped and fell, clutched at theapron to save himself, and came to the ground swathed in it,giving the effect of an apron mysteriously endowed with life. Thetriumphant odd-job man, pressing his advantage like a goodgeneral, gathered up the ends, converted it into a rude bag, andone more was added to the long list of the victories of the humanover the brute intelligence.
Everybody had a suggestion now. The cook advocated drowning. Theparlour-maid favoured the idea of hitting the prisoner with abroom-handle. Wrench, eyeing the struggling apron disapprovingly,mentioned that Mr Pickering had bought a revolver that morning.
'Put him in the coal-cellar,' said Lady Wetherby.
Wrench was more far-seeing.
'If I might offer the warning, m'lady,' said Wrench, 'not thecellar. It is full of coal. It would be placing temptation in theanimal's way.'
The odd-job man endorsed this.
'Put him in the garage, then,' said Lady Wetherby.
The odd-job man departed, bearing his heaving bag at arm's length.The cook and the parlour-maid addressed themselves to comfortingand healing the scullery-maid. Wrench went off to polish silver,Lady Wetherby to resume her letters. The cat was the last of theparty to return to the normal. She came down from the chimney anhour later covered with soot, demanding restoratives.
Lady Wetherby finished her letters. She cut them short, forEustace's insurgence had interfered with her flow of ideas. Shewent into the drawing-room, where she found Roscoe Sherriffstrumming on the piano.
'Eustace has been raising Cain,' she said.
The Press-agent looked up hopefully. He had been wearing a ratherpreoccupied air.
'How's that?' he asked.
'Throwing eggs and plates in the kitchen.'
The gleam of interest which had come into Roscoe Sherriff's facedied out.
'You couldn't get more than a fill-in at the bottom of a column onthat,' he said, regretfully. 'I'm a little disappointed in thatmonk. I hoped he would pan out bigger. Well, I guess we've justgot to give him time. I have an idea that he'll set the house onfire or do something with a punch like that one of these days. Youmustn't get discouraged. Why, that puma I made Valerie Devenishkeep looked like a perfect failure for four whole months. A childcould have played with it. Miss Devenish called me up on thephone, I remember, and said she was darned if she was going tospend the rest of her life maintaining an animal that might aswell be stuffed for all the liveliness it showed, and that she wasgoing right out to buy a white mouse instead. Fortunately, Italked her round.
'A few weeks later she came round and thanked me with tears in hereyes. The puma had suddenly struck real mid-season form. It clawedthe elevator-boy, bit a postman, held up the traffic for miles,and was finally shot by a policeman. Why, for the next few daysthere was nothing in the papers at all but Miss Devenish and herpuma. There was a war on at the time in Mexico or somewhere, andwe had it backed off the front page so far that it was over beforeit could get back. So, you see, there's always hope. I've beennursing the papers with bits about Eustace, so as to be ready forthe grand-stand play when it comes--and all we can do is to wait.It's something if he's been throwing eggs. It shows he's wakingup.'
The door opened and Lord Wetherby entered. He looked fatigued. Hesank into a chair and sighed.
'I cannot get it,' he said. 'It eludes me.'
He lapsed into a sombre silence.
'What can't you get?' said Lady Wetherby, cautiously.
'The expression--the expression I want to get into the child'seyes in my picture, "Innocence".'
'But you have got it.'
Lord Wetherby shook his head.
'Well, you had when I saw the picture,' persisted Lady Wetherby.'This child you're painting has just joined the Black Hand. Hehas been rushed in young over the heads of the waiting listbecause his father had a pull. Naturally the kid wants to dosomething to justify his election, and he wants to do it quick.You have caught him at the moment when he sees an old gentlemancoming down the street and realizes that he has only got to sneakup and stick his little knife--'
'My dear Polly, I welcome criticism, but this is more--'
Lady Wetherby stroked his coat-sleeve fondly.
'Never mind, Algie, I was only joking, precious. I thought thepicture was coming along fine when you showed it to me. I'll comeand take another look at it.'
Lord Wetherby shook his head.
'I should have a model. An artist cannot mirror Nature properlywithout a model. I wish you would invite that child down here.'
'No, Algie, there are limits. I wouldn't have him within a mileof the place.'
'Yet you keep Eustace.'
'Well, you made me engage Wrench. It's fifty-fifty. I wish youwouldn't keep picking on Eustace, Algie dear. He does no harm. MrSherriff and I were just saying how peaceable he is. He wouldn'thurt--'
Claire came in.
'Polly,' she said, 'did you put that monkey of yours in thegarage? He's just bitten Dudley in the leg.'
Lord Wetherby uttered an exclamation.
'Now perhaps--'
'We went in just now to have a look at the car,' continuedClaire. 'Dudley wanted to show me the commutator on the exhaust-boxor the windscreen, or something, and he was just bending overwhen Eustace jumped out from nowhere and pinned him. I'm afraid hehas taken it to heart rather.'
Roscoe Sherriff pondered.
'Is this worth half a column?' He shook his head. 'No, I'm afraidnot. The public doesn't know Pickering. If it had been CharlieChaplin or William J. Bryan, or someone on those lines, we couldhave had the papers bringing out extras. You can visualize WilliamJ. Bryan being bitten in the leg by a monkey. It hits you. ButPickering! Eustace might just as well have bitten the leg of thetable!'
Lord Wetherby reasserted himself.
'Now that the animal has become a public menace--'
'He's nothing of the kind,' said Lady Wetherby. 'He's only alittle upset to-day.'
'Do you mean, Pauline, that even after this you will not get ridof him?'
'Certainly not--poor dear!'
'Very well,' said Lord Wetherby, calmly. 'I give you warning thatif he attacks me I shall defend myself.'
He brooded. Lady Wetherby turned to Claire.
'What happened then? Did you shut the door of the garage?'
'Yes, but not until Eustace had got away. He slipped out like astreak and disappeared. It was too dark to see which way he went.'
Dudley Pickering limped heavily into the room.
'I was just telling them about you and Eustace, Dudley.'
Mr Pickering nodded moodily. He was too full for words.
'I think Eustace must be mad,' said Claire.
Roscoe Sherriff uttered a cry of rapture.
'You've said it!' he exclaimed. 'I knew we should get actionsooner or later. It's the puma over again. Now we are all right.Now I have something to work on. "Monkey Menaces Countryside.""Long Island Summer Colony in Panic." "Mad Monkey Bites One--"'
A convulsive shudder galvanized Mr Pickering's portly frame.
'"Mad Monkey Terrorizes Long Island. One Dead!"' murmured RoscoeSherriff, wistfully. 'Do you feel a sort of shooting, Pickering--akind of burning sensation under the skin? Lady Wetherby, I guessI'll be getting some of the papers on the phone. We've got a bigstory.'
He hurried to the telephone, but it was some little time before hecould use it. Dudley Pickering was in possession, talkingearnestly to the local doctor.
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