“Mr. Spoker?” asked Harrison.
“You certainly are speaking to Mr. Spoker,” answered the little man. “At present the entire staff of Spoker’s. And what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to see you, Mr. Spoker,” said Harrison, “because I have just come back from Penstoke.”
“Most unfortunate,” said Spoker, with emphatic sadness; most of his emotions seemed over-emphasised. “I read of it in the papers. I don’t know the Marstons but still—”
“You furnished the costumes, I believe?” asked Harrison.
“That is so,” answered Spoker. “So I take quite a professional interest.” He smiled gloomily at his own wit.
“I liked those costumes,” said Harrison.
“I’m glad of that,” answered Spoker. “A little comfort on a dismal day, Mr—”
“Harrison,” he was told.
“Mr. Harrison,” said Spoker. “A good name. I knew an actor named Harrison. A good actor, too, but he couldn’t wear a sword. It is curious that some people can wear a thing and some can’t. I’ve often noticed it in my work. And the people who particularly want to wear a thing are usually those who can’t. Now this Harrison fancied himself with a sword and yet the wretched thing always seemed to get between his legs. You can’t think of the number of devices I had to invent to keep that sword in its proper place. But, mind you, he was a good actor.”
“I’m certain he was,” said Harrison, while Henry fretted at the uselessness of such a conversation. “But why is the day so dismal, Mr. Spoker?”
“You may well ask me that, Mr. Harrison,” said Spoker, melodramatically. “You may well ask me that, and I can answer it too.”
“Why not get on with it,” muttered Henry to himself. “He’d talk a customer out of the shop.”
“I said I was the entire staff of Spoker’s,” continued the little man, “and I meant was. Quite deserted—no help for days. It is almost beyond imagination. I can hardly credit it myself. And all through tender-heartedness. Christian feeling for another human being.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Harrison, sympathetically.
“I appreciate your sentiment,” answered Spoker in the tones of a martyr. “I fear to bore you with my troubles, and yet, as they used to say in the ‘Arabian Nights’ when they started telling a story, they are singular.”
“I should be honoured to hear them,” said Harrison, while Henry smothered a groan.
“I likewise appreciate your good judgment,” replied Spoker. “I have a man named Harrow—one George Harrow—who has worked for me for longer years than I can count, and he is the most faithful creature in the world. Knows the stock backwards, remembers the price of things and never rubs a customer up the wrong way.”
“Ideal, I should say,” commented Harrison.
“You have used the exact word,” said Spoker. “Ideal he was and ideal I hope he will long continue to be. Last week this ideal creature comes to me and says he is ill. Nothing serious, run down and needs a rest. ‘Take a rest, then, George,’ is my immediate reply. But he said no, he would not leave the shop for me to run alone. That was ideal, too. I told him not to be foolish, but I must admit I saw the force of his argument. Then he said he had a friend who would take his place for a week—a bit of a foreigner, but knew all about costumes and, if I agreed, he would make the necessary arrangements.”
“Very useful,” said Harrison.
“George was always like that,” answered Spoker. “Indeed, his friend was waiting round the corner and he would fetch him. He was just a bit foreign-looking, but he called himself Smith and spoke English all right, so I fixed it up. I’ve got no grudge against foreigners myself. You can’t stop war if you have, can you? And I’m against war, although I stock uniforms. So off went George and I found myself saddled with Smith. He knew nothing about the business but he seemed willing, and he explained that he had told George he knew all about it because he needed work. George is not very good at character; but who is, for the matter of that?”
“I should have thought you were better at it than George, Mr. Spoker,” said Harrison.
“Maybe that’s true,” answered Spoker, “but I wouldn’t criticise George. I will admit that I did not feel enthusiastic about Mr. Smith, but George is very kind-hearted, and that is a law unto itself. I must say this Smith worked hard enough and earned his money, but was suspicious, and justified indeed I was. The day before yesterday he just didn’t appear at all. I waited and then settled down to run the shop myself. You didn’t think I was going to worry George, did you? I had given him a week’s rest, and he was going to have it. If his friends let him down that wasn’t his fault.”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Spoker.”
“Only human,” said Spoker, solemnly. “But you could have taken my breath away yesterday morning when I found Smith in the stockroom, working away as if nothing had happened. And whistling, mark you, Mr. Harrison—whistling as if nothing had happened. He even wished me good morning in the most friendly way. I asked him if he was Rip Van Winkle. Possibly I was more sarcastic than I should have been, but I was really getting very angry. He smiled at me and said, ‘Now don’t be rude’. Can you imagine it, Mr. Harrison?”
“Honestly I can’t,” answered Harrison, while Henry chuckled to himself.
“So then I said exactly what I thought,” said Spoker. “I am very fluent when I am in that mood, Mr. Harrison, and I let him have it. I feel I was justified. It was really quite intolerable. And then he went. I suppose I can’t blame him. I should have done the same. But he went on smiling and said something rude about the shop. That’s all, Mr. Harrison, but it is not a pleasant thing to happen.”
“Certainly not,” answered Harrison. “But what about George?”
“I shan’t worry him as he will be back in a day or two, and he’ll be as upset as I was about it. George is too kind-hearted, that’s the trouble; and I know he’ll be terribly upset when he hears I have been so grossly let down. Really, I’m almost more sorry for George than I am for myself. And that’s saying a good deal.”
“It is tiresome, Mr. Spoker, I agree,” said Harrison; “and possibly I had better not worry you?”
“No worry, Mr. Harrison. Business is business,” answered Spoker. “I am afraid it is I who have worried you. What can I do for you?”
“I want to see a costume like that worn by Mr. Marston,” said Harrison.
“Nothing easier,” was the reply.
He led them to the back of the shop and down a flight of stairs into a basement. Here all the available wall space was fitted with deep cupboards. The cupboards had sliding doors, and as Spoker pushed one of these back Harrison could see costumes of all kinds neatly arranged on hooks or hangers.
“Here we are,” said Spoker. “A very popular costume, Mr. Harrison.” He pointed to where a number of chefs’ costumes were hanging up. Then he suddenly stopped and gazed open-mouthed at the costumes. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Spoker?” asked Harrison.
“Look,” said Spoker, pulling out a chef’s costume and spluttering with anger.
“Not as clean as it might be,” said Harrison.
“Filthy, filthy,” shouted Spoker. “This is the last straw. If I could lay hands on that man it—”
“What do you mean, Mr. Spoker?” asked Harrison
“I haven’t many rules in this place, Mr. Harrison,” said Spoker, quickly, “but I do insist on mv costumes being clean when they are put away. It isn’t fair on your customers to keep them about dirty. Look at it, just look at it—and all among the clean ones too. This is really too much.”
“I should like to look at it,” said Harrison.
“And so should I,” said Spoker, dragging out the costume. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. No more of George’s friends for me. I can’t tell you how upset I feel, Mr. Harrison. My cupboards are spotless. Or they were. And this sort of thing to happen.”
“Do
you think he put any more away like this?” asked Harrison.
“Good heavens, you don’t suggest—” said Spoker, breathless and going purple.
“You never know,” answered Harrison, holding the costume up.
“Good Lord, good Lord,” cried Spoker, dashing round the room, opening cupboard after cupboard. Meanwhile Harrison was quickly feeling in each of the pockets of the soiled chef’s costume, and Henry noticed that he transferred—“like a genuinely trained pickpocket,” said Henry afterwards—something from one of them to a pocket of his own.
“Nothing else,” said Spoker, with a sigh of relief as he opened the last cupboard. “That’s the only one.”
“Good!” said Harrison. “Now, Mr. Spoker, I want to tell you something. I hope you will forgive me if I’ve rather deceived you.”
“What on earth’s the matter now?” asked Spoker, anxiously.
“Well, all the talk about Marston was bluff,” answered Harrison. “I’m really on the track of the man who calls himself Smith.”
“A detective?”
“Some people are kind enough to call me that,” said Harrison. “I am making inquiries for a private person.”
“What’s Smith’s real name?” asked Spoker.
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you, Mr. Spoker,” answered Harrison; “but he’s not a pleasant character.”
“There’s no doubt of that,” answered Spoker. “I could have told you that myself.”
“You have told me a great deal, and it may be very valuable,” said Harrison. “And there’s a favour I want to ask you. Please don’t have this costume cleaned, but keep it as it is until I have finished my inquiries.”
“I don’t want to be dragged into any court cases, Mr. Harrison,” said Mr. Spoker decisively. “I know these lawyers, and I don’t trust them. Wig and gown’s not a bad fancy-dress, but I see them walking about the street near here and I keep away from them. Too many of my friends have been stung in that way.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Spoker,” said Harrison. “But it is important, and I won’t drag you into anything if I can possibly help it. Will you do it?”
“But it seems so unnecessary, Mr. Harrison,” objected Spoker.
“It is very important,” answered Harrison.
“But it isn’t a criminal offence to put a costume back dirty—although I wish it was.”
“Still, it’s important in connection with Mr. Smith,” replied Harrison. “And you don’t love him, do you, Mr. Spoker?”
“I certainly don’t,” said Spoker viciously. “I’ll do it.”
“What did Mr. Smith look like?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I told you he seemed a bit foreign.”
“What about his face?”
“Well—” said Spoker, hesitatingly, and said no more.
“No distinctive feature?” asked Harrison.
“It may sound absurd, Mr. Harrison,” answered Spoker, “but I can’t for the life of me recall what he looked like.”
“Not unusual, Mr. Spoker,” said Harrison, but his tone of voice did not carry conviction to Henry. Even he thought that Mr. Spoker admitting his inability to describe anything was slightly unusual.
“And one other thing,” asked Harrison, “George’s address.”
“Poor George. Must you drag him in?”
“I must find out how much he knows about Mr. Smith.”
“But can’t you wait until he comes back?”
“It’s vital that I should see him as soon as possible,” replied Harrison. “I must lay this Mr. Smith by the heels before he does any more harm.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Spoker. “But poor George is so trusting. Don’t worry him too much, Mr. Harrison.”
“I promise you I won’t,” answered Harrison. “And you won’t forget about the costume?”
“Certainly not,” said Spoker, preceding them up the stairs.
Harrison left the shop armed with George’s address, which was in the neighbourhood of Camden Town, and, followed by Henry, made for the Hampstead “tube” at Charing Cross.
“Progress,” said Harrison.
“I don’t see it, sir,” answered Henry. “Mr. Spoker was a bore, and I shouldn’t have thought his friend Smith was much more amusing.”
“He is, Henry, I can assure you,” said Harrison. “Extremely amusing.”
Henry said nothing, feeling that Harrison was definitely on the track of something important although he could not guess what it was, and hardly a word was spoken until they found themselves in front of a small villa in a row of villas of hideously similar proportions.
Harrison knocked on the door and it was opened by a nondescript-looking individual with a scared look in his eyes.
“Harrow?” asked Harrison.
“What do you want?” said the man, his scared look turning to terror.
“I have come in connection with Mr. Smith,” said Harrison.
The man’s face took on a green tint and he started shaking violently.
“Now, Mr. George Harrow,” said Harrison, sternly, “you are going to tell me the truth.”
“I will, sir, I will,” answered the man in an abject manner. “Come inside and I will.”
Harrison and Henry followed him into a small suburban sitting-room of fearsome decoration, heavy atmosphere and extreme discomfort.
“I’ve been worried ever since I did it,” said George Harrow, pathetically. “I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself.”
“What did you do?” asked Harrison.
“I will tell you the truth, sir,” said Harrow. “I don’t know how I came to be so weak. This man stopped me outside the shop—”
“When?”
“The day before everything happened, sir. He said I looked ill and needed a rest. He talked like a gentleman although he seemed a bit foreign. I told him it was kind of him to say so, but how could I take a rest. He said I ought to have a week’s holiday. I laughed a bit, and then he said he liked doing a good turn occasionally. He was well-off and he’d give me twenty pounds to enjoy myself with. Well, sir, twenty pounds is a lot of money.”
“It is,” said Harrison. “Didn’t it make you suspicious?”
“I just laughed,” answered Harrow. “Then he brought out a note-case, counted out twenty notes and pushed them into my hand. It seemed like a fairy story at the time. I told him I couldn’t take them and he said that was all nonsense. He’d got plenty and he’d like to do me a good turn.”
“Well?” said Harrison as Harrow paused.
“I didn’t know what to think, sir,” said the man. “He seemed to be quite serious about it. As I hesitated he said, ‘I suppose you think your boss won’t let you go. I hadn’t thought of that,’ and he stopped to think for a minute. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said, ‘I’ll do your job for a week myself. I know a little bit about it. It’ll be rather a joke. I’d like to see how your show is run. That’s a good idea. Now it’s all settled.’ And before I knew where I was he had shaken hands and disappeared.”
“Leaving the twenty pounds with you?”
“That’s so, sir,” answered Harrow. “I didn’t seem to have time to give them back.”
“What happened next morning?” asked Harrison.
“Well, sir, I didn’t feel happy about it,” said Harrow. “In fact, I was worried the whole night. So next morning I took along the twenty pounds and found him outside the shop. He said he was ready to be introduced to Mr. Spoker and start work, and I said I thought I had better give him back his money and forget about it. Then he seemed to get angry and began to talk fiercely. He said he had made all his arrangements and I couldn’t make a fool of him. I had taken his money and I must stick to my bargain. I argued a bit, but then he said he’d have me arrested for getting money out of him by false pretences. I didn’t know what he meant, but I did think he could do something to me. His look frightened me and I gave in. I told my story to Mr. Spoker, fetched in this man, and went.”
“You made a terrible mistake, George Harrow,” said Harrison.
“I’ve regretted it ever since, sir. I swear I have,” answered Harrow. “I haven’t touched the money. But what has happened, sir?”
“Very little,” answered Harrison; “except that you have treated a generous employer in the basest possible manner.”
“Nothing has happened to Mr. Spoker?” asked Harrow with alarm.
“Fortunately nothing has happened,” said Harrison; “but this Smith is a very shady customer and has left Mr. Spoker high and dry, without any warning. Possibly Mr. Spoker is lucky to be out of it so lightly, and you too. You’d better get back to work as soon as you possibly can.”
“I will, sir, at once. And what about the money?”
“Give it to a hospital or something like that.”
“And what am I to tell Mr. Spoker?”
“What you like.”
“But aren’t you going to report to him, sir?”
“I’m only interested in Smith,” said Harrison. “Do everything you can to make up to Mr. Spoker for the nuisance you’ve been. I shan’t say anything unless you make me.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you,” said Harrow, fervently. “I know I’ve been a fool.”
“Only one thing more,” said Harrison. “Would you know Smith again if you saw him?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Could you describe him to me?”
“Hardly, sir. I was so confused at the time.”
“Dark or fair? Tall or short?”
“I didn’t really notice, sir.”
“Nothing special about him, then?”
“Just ordinary, sir, that’s what he was,” answered Harrow.
“Not much to go on,” said Harrison, preparing to leave. “A very little would have been so useful.”
Harrison and Henry were shown to the door by a much-relieved man; in fact, Harrow’s whole bodily pose was in direct contrast to that with which he had received them.
“We’re getting on, Henry,” said Harrison, with a note of satisfaction in his voice.
“Mr. Smith seemed to interest you, sir,” said Henry, rather wearily.
The Man Without A Face Page 8