“From me?” he queried, with a half cold half kind glance; “No, — I fancy not!”
He waved his hand lightly and left me, and I, putting the leather case of notes in my inner breast-pocket, hailed a hansom and was driven off rapidly to Basinghall Street where my solicitors awaited me.
Arrived at my destination, I sent up my name, and was received at once with the utmost respect by two small chips of men in rusty black who represented ‘the firm.’ At my request they sent down their clerk to pay and dismiss my cab, while I, opening Lucio’s pocket book, asked them to change me a ten-pound note into gold and silver which they did with ready good-will. Then we went into business together. My deceased relative, whom I had never seen as far as I myself remembered, but who had seen me as a motherless baby in my nurse’s arms, had left me everything he possessed unconditionally, including several rare collections of pictures, jewels and curios. His will was so concisely and clearly worded that there were no possibilities of any legal hair-splitting over it, — and I was informed that in a week or ten days at the utmost everything would be in order and at my sole disposition.
“You are a very fortunate man Mr Tempest;” — said the senior partner Mr Bentham, as he folded up the last of the papers we had been looking through and put it by— “At your age this princely inheritance may be either a great boon to you or a great curse, — one never knows. The possession of such enormous wealth involves great responsibilities.”
I was amused at what I considered the impertinence of this mere servant of the law in presuming to moralize on my luck.
“Many people would be glad to accept such responsibilities and change places with me” — I said with a flippant air— “You yourself, for example?”
I knew this remark was not in good taste, but I made it wilfully, feeling that he had no business to preach to me as it were on the responsibilities of wealth. He took no offence however, — he merely gave me an observant side-glance like that of some meditative crow.
“No Mr Tempest, no” — he said drily— “I do not think I should at all be disposed to change places with you. I feel very well satisfied as I am. My brain is my bank, and brings me in quite sufficient interest to live upon, which is all that I desire. To be comfortable, and pay one’s way honestly is enough for me. I have never envied the wealthy.”
“Mr Bentham is a philosopher,” — interposed his partner, Mr Ellis smiling— “In our profession Mr Tempest, we see so many ups and downs of life, that in watching the variable fortunes of our clients, we ourselves learn the lesson of content.”
“Ah, it is a lesson that I have never mastered till now!” I responded merrily— “But at the present moment I confess myself satisfied.”
They each gave me a formal little bow, and Mr Bentham shook hands.
“Business being concluded, allow me to congratulate you,” he said politely— “Of course, if you should wish at any time to entrust your legal affairs to other hands, my partner and myself are perfectly willing to withdraw. Your deceased relative had the highest confidence in us....”
“As I have also, I assure you,” — I interrupted quickly— “Pray do me the favour to continue managing things for me as you did for my relative, and be assured of my gratitude in advance.”
Both little men bowed again, and this time Mr Ellis shook hands.
“We shall do our best for you, Mr Tempest, shall we not Bentham?” Bentham nodded gravely. “And now what do you say — shall we mention it Bentham? — or shall we not mention it?”
“Perhaps,” responded Bentham sententiously— “it would be as well to mention it.”
I glanced from one to the other, not understanding what they meant. Mr Ellis rubbed his hands and smiled deprecatingly.
“The fact is Mr Tempest, your deceased relative had one very curious idea — he was a shrewd man and a clever one, but he certainly had one very curious idea — and perhaps if he had followed it up to any extent, it might — yes, it might have landed him in a lunatic asylum and prevented his disposing of his extensive fortune in the — er — the very just and reasonable manner he has done. Happily for himself and — er — for you, he did not follow it up, and to the last he retained his admirable business qualities and high sense of rectitude. But I do not think he ever quite dispossessed himself of the idea itself, did he Bentham?”
Bentham gazed meditatively at the round black mark of the gas-burner where it darkened the ceiling.
“I think not, — no, I think not,” he answered— “I believe he was perfectly convinced of it.”
“And what was it?” I asked, getting impatient— “Did he want to bring out some patent? — a new notion for a flying-machine, and get rid of his money in that way?”
“No, no, no!” and Mr Ellis laughed a soft pleasant little laugh over my suggestion— “No, my dear sir — nothing of a purely mechanical or commercial turn captivated his imagination. He was too, — er — yes, I think I may say too profoundly opposed to what is called ‘progress’ in the world to aid it by any new invention or other means whatever. You see it is a little awkward for me to explain to you what really seems to be the most absurd and fantastic notion, — but — to begin with, we never really knew how he made his money, did we Bentham?”
Bentham shook his head and pursed his lips closely together.
“We had to take charge of large sums, and advise as to investments and other matters, — but it was not our business to inquire where the cash came from in the first place, was it, Bentham?”
Again Bentham shook his head solemnly.
“We were entrusted with it;” — went on his partner, pressing the tips of his fingers together caressingly as he spoke— “and we did our best to fulfil that trust — with — er — with discretion and fidelity. And it was only after we had been for many years connected in business that our client mentioned — er — his idea; — a most erratic and extraordinary one, which was briefly this, — that he had sold himself to the devil, and that his large fortune was one result of the bargain!”
I burst out laughing heartily.
“What a ridiculous notion!” I exclaimed— “Poor man! — a weak spot in his brain somewhere evidently, — or perhaps he used the expression as a mere figure of speech?”
“I think not;” — responded Mr Ellis half interrogatively, still caressing his fingers— “I think our client did not use the phrase ‘sold to the devil’ as a figure of speech merely, Mr Bentham?”
“I am positive he did not,” — said Bentham seriously— “He spoke of the ‘bargain’ as an actual and accomplished fact.”
I laughed again with a trifle less boisterousness.
“Well, people have all sorts of fancies now-a-days” — I said; “What with Blavatskyism, Besantism and hypnotism, it is no wonder if some folks still have a faint credence in the silly old superstition of a devil’s existence. But for a thoroughly sensible man....” 50”Yes — er, yes;” — interrupted Mr Ellis— “Your relative, Mr Tempest, was a thoroughly sensible man, and this — er — this idea was the only fancy that ever appeared to have taken root in his eminently practical mind. Being only an idea, it seemed hardly worth mentioning — but perhaps it is well — Mr Bentham agreeing with me — that we have mentioned it.”
“It is a satisfaction and relief to ourselves,” — said Mr Bentham, “to have had it mentioned.”
I smiled, and thanking them, rose to go. They bowed to me once more, simultaneously, looking almost like twin brothers, so identically had their united practice of the law impressed itself upon their features.
“Good-day Mr Tempest,” — said Mr Bentham— “I need scarcely say that we shall serve you as we served our late client, to the best of our ability. And in matters where advice may be pleasant or profitable, we may possibly be of use to you. May we ask whether you require any cash advances immediately?”
“No, thank you,” — I answered, feeling grateful to my friend Rimânez for having placed me in a perfectly independent positio
n to confront these solicitors— “I am amply provided.”
They seemed, I fancied, a trifle surprised at this, but were too discreet to offer any remark. They wrote down my address at the Grand Hotel, and sent their clerk to show me to the door. I gave this man half-a-sovereign to drink my health which he very cheerfully promised to do, — then I walked round by the Law Courts, trying to realize that I was not in a dizzy dream, but that I was actually and solidly, five times a millionaire. As luck would have it, in turning a corner I jostled up against a man coming the other way, the very publisher who had returned me my rejected manuscript the day before.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed stopping short.
“Hullo!” I rejoined.
“Where are you off to?” he went on— “Going to try and place that unlucky novel? My dear boy, believe me it will never do as it is....”
“It will do, it shall do;” — I said calmly— “I am going to publish it myself.”
He started. “Publish it yourself! Good heavens! — it will cost you — ah! — sixty or seventy, perhaps a hundred pounds.”
“I don’t care if it costs me a thousand!”
A red flush came into his face, and his eyes opened in astonishment.
“I thought ... excuse me ...” he stammered awkwardly; “I thought money was scarce with you — —”
“It was,” I answered drily— “It isn’t now.”
Then, his utterly bewildered look, together with the whole topsy-turviness of things in my altered position, struck me so forcibly that I burst out laughing, wildly, and with a prolonged noise and violence that apparently alarmed him, for he began looking nervously about him in all directions as if meditating flight. I caught him by the arm.
“Look here man,” I said, trying to conquer my almost hysterical mirth— “I’m not mad — don’t you think it, — I’m only a — millionaire!” And I began laughing again; the situation seemed to me so sublimely ridiculous. But the worthy publisher did not see it at all — and his features expressed so much genuine alarm that I made a further effort to control myself and succeeded. “I assure you on my word of honour I’m not joking — it’s a fact. Last night I wanted a dinner, and you, like a good fellow, offered to give me one, — to-day I possess five millions of money! Don’t stare so! don’t have a fit of apoplexy! And as I have told you, I shall publish my book myself at my own expense, and it shall succeed! Oh I’m in earnest, grim earnest, grim as death! — I’ve more than enough in my pocketbook to pay for its publication now!”
I loosed my hold of him, and he fell back stupefied and confused.
“God bless my soul!” he muttered feebly— “It’s like a dream! — I was never more astonished in my life!”
52”Nor I!” I said, another temptation to laughter threatening my composure,— “But strange things happen in life, as in fiction. And that book which the builders — I mean the readers — rejected, shall be the headstone of the corner — or — the success of the season! What will you take to bring it out?”
“Take? I? I bring it out!”
“Yes, you — why not? If I offer you a chance to turn an honest penny shall your paid pack of ‘readers’ prevent your accepting it? Fie! you are not a slave, — this is a free country. I know the kind of people who ‘read’ for you, — the gaunt unlovable spinster of fifty, — the dyspeptic book-worm who is a ‘literary failure’ and can find nothing else to do but scrawl growling comments on the manuscript of promising work, — why in heaven’s name should you rely on such incompetent opinion? I’ll pay you for the publication of my book at as stiff a price as you choose and something over for good-will. And I guarantee you another thing — it shall not only make my name as an author, but yours as a publisher. I’ll advertise royally, and I’ll work the press. Everything in this world can be done for money ...”
“Stop, stop,” — he interrupted.— “This is so sudden! You must let me think of it — you must give me time to consider — —”
“Take a day for your meditations then,” I said— “But no longer. For if you don’t say yes, I’ll get another man, and he’ll have the big pickings instead of you! Be wise in time, my friend! — good-day!”
He ran after me.
“Stay, — look here! You’re so strange, so wild — so erratic you know! Your head seems quite turned!”
“It is! The right way round this time!”
“Dear dear me,” and he smiled benevolently— “Why, you don’t give me a chance to congratulate you. I really do, you know — I congratulate you sincerely!” And he shook me by the hand quite fervently. “And as regards the book I believe there was really no fault found with it in the matter of literary style or quality, — it was simply too — too transcendental, and unlikely therefore to suit the public taste. The Domestic-Iniquity line is what we find pays best at present. But I will think about it — where will a letter find you?”
“Grand Hotel,” I responded, inwardly amused at his puzzled and anxious expression — I knew he was already mentally calculating how much he could make out of me in the pursuit of my literary whim— “Come there, and lunch or dine with me to-morrow if you like — only send me a word beforehand. Remember, I give you just a day’s grace to decide, — it must be yes or no, in twenty-four hours!”
And with this I left him, staring vaguely after me like a man who has seen some nameless wonder drop out of the sky at his feet. I went on, laughing to myself inaudibly, till I saw one or two passers-by looking at me so surprisedly that I came to the conclusion that I must put a disguise on my thoughts if I would not be taken for a madman. I walked briskly, and presently my excitement cooled down. I resumed the normal condition of the phlegmatic Englishman who considers it the height of bad form to display any personal emotion whatever, and I occupied the rest of the morning in purchasing some ready-made apparel which by unusual good luck happened to fit me, and also in giving an extensive, not to say extravagant order to a fashionable tailor in Sackville Street who promised me everything with punctuality and despatch. I next sent off the rent I owed to the landlady of my former lodgings, adding five pounds extra by way of recognition of the poor woman’s long patience in giving me credit, and general kindness towards me during my stay in her dismal house, — and this done I returned to the Grand in high spirits, looking and feeling very much the better for my ready-made outfit. A waiter met me in the corridor and with the most obsequious deference, informed me that ‘his excellency the prince’ was waiting luncheon for me in his own apartments. Thither I repaired at once, and found my new friend alone in his sumptuous drawing-room, standing near the full light of the largest window and holding in his hand an oblong crystal case through which he was looking with an almost affectionate solicitude.
“Ah, Geoffrey! Here you are!” he exclaimed— “I imagined you would get through your business by lunch time, so I waited.”
“Very good of you!” I said, pleased at the friendly familiarity he displayed in thus calling me by my Christian name— “What have you got there?”
“A pet of mine,” — he answered, smiling slightly— “Did you ever see anything like it before?”
VI
I approached and examined the box he held. It was perforated with finely drilled holes for the admission of air, and within it lay a brilliant winged insect coloured with all the tints and half-tints of the rainbow.
“Is it alive?” I asked.
“It is alive, and has a sufficient share of intelligence,” — replied Rimânez. “I feed it and it knows me, — that is the utmost you can say of the most civilized human beings; they know what feeds them. It is quite tame and friendly as you perceive,” — and opening the case he gently advanced his forefinger. The glittering beetle’s body palpitated with the hues of an opal; its radiant wings expanded, and it rose at once to its protector’s hand and clung there. He lifted it out and held it aloft, then shaking it to and fro lightly, he exclaimed —
“Off, Sprite! Fly, and return to me!”
; The creature soared away through the room and round and round the ceiling, looking like a beautiful iridescent jewel, the whirr of its wings making a faint buzzing sound as it flew. I watched it fascinated, till after a few graceful movements hither and thither, it returned to its owner’s still outstretched hand, and again settled there making no further attempt to fly.
“There is a well-worn platitude which declares that ‘in the midst of life we are in death’” — said the prince then softly, bending his dark deep eyes on the insect’s quivering wings— “But as a matter of fact that maxim is wrong as so many trite human maxims are. It should be ‘in the midst of death we are in life.’ This creature is a rare and curious production of death, but not I believe the only one of its kind. Others have been found under precisely similar circumstances. I took possession of this one myself in rather a weird fashion, — will the story bore you?”
“On the contrary” — I rejoined eagerly, my eyes fixed on the radiant bat-shaped thing that glittered in the light as though its veins were phosphorescent.
He paused a moment, watching me.
“Well, — it happened simply thus, — I was present at the uncasing of an Egyptian female mummy; — her talismans described her as a princess of a famous royal house. Several curious jewels were tied round her neck, and on her chest was a piece of beaten gold quarter of an inch thick. Underneath this gold plate, her body was swathed round and round in an unusual number of scented wrappings; and when these were removed it was discovered that the mummified flesh between her breasts had decayed away, and in the hollow or nest thus formed by the process of decomposition, this insect I hold was found alive, as brilliant in colour as it is now!”
I could not repress a slight nervous shudder.
“Horrible!” I said— “I confess, if I were you, I should not care to make a pet of such an uncanny object. I should kill it, I think.”
He kept his bright intent gaze upon me.
“Why?” he asked. “I’m afraid, my dear Geoffrey, you are not disposed to study science. To kill the poor thing who managed to find life in the very bosom of death, is a cruel suggestion, is it not? To me, this unclassified insect is a valuable proof (if I needed one) of the indestructibility of the germs of conscious existence; it has eyes, and the senses of taste, smell, touch and hearing, — and it gained these together with its intelligence, out of the dead flesh of a woman who lived, and no doubt loved and sinned and suffered more than four thousand years ago!” He broke off, — then suddenly added— “All the same I frankly admit to you that I believe it to be an evil creature. I do indeed! But I like it none the less for that. In fact I have rather a fantastic notion about it myself. I am much inclined to accept the idea of the transmigration of souls, and so I please my humour sometimes by thinking that perhaps the princess of that Royal Egyptian house had a wicked, brilliant, vampire soul, — and that ... here it is!”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 329