"Do you mean to a Criminal Court, Harry?" a voice asked.
"I said gone forward; I didn't say what Court. We'll see about Courts byand by. This Mister Smith or whatever his name is will be had up forflying to the danger of the public, and we'll see what happens then!"
Once more I vehemently cursed him. It was half-past eight at night, withnothing unusual doing at the office, and I had left Willett in charge sothat I might find Westbury. It was perfectly certain that afterHodgson's leading article of that morning Westbury would not spend theevening in the retirement of his home, but would be out for what youngWillett calls "gin-and-glory." As it happened, I had run him to earthat my very first attempt, in the same Saloon Bar in which I had firstseen him.
You may know Hodgson's leading-article style. If we on the _Circus_don't imitate it it is not that we deny that it "gets across." It isallusive, rorty and familiar, and there is frequently common sensebehind it. If the Man in the Public-house likes his news served up inthat way you can't blame Hodgson for meeting his wishes. This is what hehad written, no doubt sending his Chelsea sales up by hundreds ofquires:--
"TOM, DICK AND ICARUS.
"Our correspondent Mr. Harry Westbury is some lad. You will find his letter at the foot of the next column to this. Why, asks Harry, in these days when you may consider yourself lucky to have a roof over your head at all, should your head and that roof be brought into sudden and violent contact? Not that Harry is a jumper; he isn't going to challenge Joe Darby; but the ceiling and your occiput can establish connection just the same if the former comes down on the latter. What he really means is that aeroplanes, subject to sudden syncopes of the engines, have no business over Chelsea's pleasant roofs at all.
"H.W. does not claim that he personally suffered damage from the crash we reported last Friday. But he is a respected House and Estate Agent residing in the district and speaks feelingly. _C'est son metier_, as our gallant and Gallic Allies say. He means, we take it, that if civil aviation is to develop, corresponding safeguards must be developed side by side with it. Here we are with Harry all the way. Our Olympians may have burst a number of brain-cells over the present Regulations, but they will have to find a new wave-length. Tom, Dick and Harry we know, but we have not yet been properly introduced to Tom, Dick and Icarus. No, sir, not with building materials at their present price and the plumber rolling up in his Rolls-Ford. The pilot who came down in Chelsea last Thursday is said to have been employed by the Aiglon Company. Nuff said. If the Aiglon or any other Company is out for public support it knows what to do. In the meantime we hope Mr. Westbury won't raise his house premiums. But that is another story.
"THE MAN IN THE PUBLIC-HOUSE."
That was the whole text of it. Was it fair comment on a matter of publicinterest? Well, I don't say it wasn't. Was it a timely reminder thathigh-spirited lads who had lately been praised for their dare-devilrymust now pull themselves together and fall into line with the newconditions? Very likely. Was it a legitimate attempt to arouse interestin the age's new wonder, or merely a political stick with which covertlyto beat some high official dog or other? I didn't know.
For my mind was occupied with quite other thoughts. From round the edgeof my paper I was trying to sum up Westbury--a young man, butunexercised; seldom drunk, as a man in decent physical condition wouldhave been on half that he swallowed, but already habituated and inured;probably quite well-to-do, in that mysterious way that causes tradesmenquietly to acquire their own houses and to drive in their owntwo-seaters to places of entertainment such as that I was in; and yet ina sense a minor man of affairs as distinct from a tradesman, a cut abovethe shirt-sleeves-and-counter business, if not exactly entitled to stylehis occupation a profession. He had got over the first overweening stageof the vanity of that day's publicity; he was now a little disparagingwhat he wouldn't have allowed anybody else to disparage; was treatingHodgson quite as a familiar, in fact, which as far as I was concerned hewas perfectly at liberty to do. A dangerous beast, I thought again, andnone the less dangerous now that Billy Mackwith, as foreman of thatcoroner's jury, had got his back thoroughly up.
"Yes, Mr. Mackwith, K.C. or O.B.E., or whatever you call yourself," hewas muttering again, "they laugh best that laugh last. If he'd even saidto me, 'What's _your_ opinion, sir?' I won't say but what I should havethought a bit more of him, but him and his silk hat and gloves ... youwait a bit! There's a few will be surprised before this Case is over!"
It seemed to me that he scarcely took the trouble to veil what he reallymeant. Nor was I surprised at the way in which his hearers evidentlytook his words. For, looking from his cunning yet stupid face to the sixor seven other faces about him, I could make a guess at their attitudetoo. Remember those first faint rumors that had found their way with themorning's milk to Audrey Cunningham's doorstep. Remember what whisperedcurrency they must have had before they had come to Audrey at all.Remember that photograph in the _Roundabout_ that had filled LennoxStreet with a gaping crowd that morning, a crowd that had taken a coupleof days to diminish and die away. Esdaile told me later, too, that for aweek he had been conscious of turning heads as he had walked along thestreets.... Oh, I could have made this Case of ours a thing of pistolsand parachutes only, but I wished to go a little farther than that. Notthat I have any particular views on mass-suggestion at large. Mybusiness is simply to observe its working. And here I was, in a SaloonBar, observing it in a very curious form.
For I think that every single member of the group to which I waslistening behind my newspaper had more than an idea of what Westburyreally meant. I think they knew perfectly well that when he spoke offlying to the public danger he meant very, very much more. I don't thinkthere was one of them who had not heard the story of Inspector Websterand the bullet. Secretive as he was, he would be garrulous among hisintimates if garrulity enhanced his self-importance. I am perfectlycertain that every one of them knew all this, knew that he had beenthwarted in his legitimate demand for a post-mortem examination, andknew in addition something else that I also was to know by and by.
Then suddenly something happened that placed all this beyond any doubtwhatever.
Besides their own party, I was the only person at that end of the room,and I had been there long enough to have drunk three glasses of beerinstead of the one that still stood only half empty on the counter at myelbow. As I listened the voices suddenly dropped. There was a minute ofwhispering, during which (realizing a little late that eavesdroppersmust keep up appearances) I finished my beer and ordered a second glass.Then Westbury's voice rose again.
"Yes, 'corresponding safeguards or words to that effect,'" he said. "Igave my copy of the paper away. Er----"
The last was a sudden clearing of his throat, evidently intended toattract attention--my attention. I half dropped the paper and saw theconvex eyes on mine.
"If that paper belongs to the house, sir, might I have a glance at itjust for one moment?" he said.
VII
I had bought that copy of the _Roundabout_ myself, but I knew that thatwas in no sense the point. Without a word I handed it to Mr. Westbury.My second glass of beer was placed before me, and as I half turned toget a coin from my pocket I felt, positively felt, their eyes on me. Ialso felt their removal as I took up my change and resumed my formerattitude. Westbury had taken the paper with a "Thank you, sir."
"Ah, it's open at the very page. Begin here, Tom," he said. "'If civilaviation is to develop----'"
And he passed the paper to one of his companions.
I had not the least intention of leaving. I was perfectly well awarethat Westbury had not wanted that paper, but had wanted to see my face.He was not likely to recognize it as that of the younger novelist whoseportrait appears publicly from time to time, since in order to maintainthat humorous status I have for a dozen year
s refrained from having myphotograph taken at all; but I knew enough of my man to be sure thatlittle had escaped him during that half hour or so when he had occupiedthat position of privilege outside Esdaile's French window, and that heprobably remembered every face of that breakfast-party--Mackwith's andmy own among the rest. That was why I had no thought of leaving. He washardly the kind of man I should have had much to say to in the ordinarycourse, but if he saw fit to challenge me, well and good. In fact, Ihadn't very much choice in the matter. I had only to picture to myselfwhat sort of glances would be exchanged among them were I suddenly tofinish my beer and walk out and my remaining became almost a necessity.Nay, _he_ had already challenged _me_ when he had borrowed my paper. Myonly doubt was whether, in view of that whispered conversation and ofthe dimensions Rumor had now attained, they hadn't all challenged me.
The next moment Mr. Westbury had gone still farther. He had also chosenthe ground on which our duel, if there was to be a duel, was to takeplace. The Public-house has its own punctilio. I wouldn't go the lengthof saying that you can't ask a stranger for a match without offering tobuy him a drink in return, but such invitations are given on quiteslight occasions. I was not surprised, therefore, when Mr. Westbury,catching my eye, acknowledged the loan of the paper by saying, "Will youhave a drink, sir?"
So I had in a sense either to eat his salt or refuse it. I did nothesitate. Certainly that beer was salt enough.
"Thank you," I replied.
"And what is it, sir?"
"I'll have another glass of beer."
He ordered it. Then, "I think we've met before," he said.
The silence of the others was suddenly very noticeable. It was for allthe world as if some referee had ordered, "Seconds out of the ring."
"I'm afraid I don't quite----" I began.
"Well, I won't say it got as far as an intro," he took me up, "butweren't you at a certain house in Lennox Street when an accidentoccurred the other day?"
"I was, but I wasn't aware----"
"Oh, I wasn't inside the house. But I was able to be of some littleassistance outside," he replied. "A very curious affair, sir," he addedtentatively.
"Rather a sad one," I replied.
There was a pause. "Chelsea's very much interested in that accident," hecontinued.
I answered that I didn't live in Chelsea.
Then suddenly he became almost amiable; but for all his amiability hiseyes were like the hard-boiled eggs on the counter, only a trifleyellower.
"Well, that's two of you gentlemen I've met now," he said. "I haven'tthe pleasure of knowing your name, but the other gentleman was Mr.Mackwith."
There was a certain correctness about this opening that I hadreluctantly to acknowledge. He may or may not have known my name--thechances were that he had already ascertained it--but I read his thought.A few minutes ago, possibly before he had become aware of my presence,he had spoken pretty freely of Mackwith; he was now obviously askinghimself whether I had overheard this. In all probability I had, but insuch cases the official attitude is the best. Had Mr. Westbury been anadministrator I could have imagined him penning a minute: "This does notcome within the knowledge of this Department."
"Yes," he continued after a pause, "I had the pleasure of sitting on acoroner's jury with Mr. Mackwith the other day."
"Really?"
"Yes, and strange as it may seem, in connection with this very accidentwe're speaking of."
"That's very interesting," I said genially. "I haven't seen Mr. Mackwithsince the occurrence. What happened at the inquest on the unfortunateman?"
"The verdict was in the papers, sir. And my own views are in that papermy friend is reading. They're twice over, as a matter of fact, once in aletter of mine they printed and once in the editor's remarks on it."
"Ah, then you're Mr. Westbury!" I exclaimed with feigned surprise. "Iwas reading both your letter and the article just now. I congratulateyou. I see you're in touch with both sides."
Mr. Westbury looked at me with mistrust. "What both sides?" he asked.
"With both the men who came down that morning," I replied. "You were atthe inquest on one of them, and you very properly call for an inquiryinto the other man's conduct."
"I do!" he said so vindictively that he might almost have been spittingthe two words into one of the sawdust-filled spittoons. "I do more thancall, Mr.----" he glared.
"Oh? But how can you do more?" I asked politely. "There are certainprescribed forms in such cases, and if inquiry on those lines turns outto be satisfactory I should have said there was nothing more to bedone?"
"Ah! If!" said Westbury, with the greatest intensity of meaning.
There was a palm in a copper pot behind him, and above his head apicture of a huntsman holding up a fox over the baying pack preparatoryto drinking Somebody's Whisky. My eyes wandered reflectively to theseobjects for a moment; then I took a further step. It seemed to me toolate to draw back now.
"But--well, since we are discussing this I wish you could be a littleplainer," I said. "You say all Chelsea's interested in this Case, and Idon't live in Chelsea. Why is Chelsea so interested?"
He replied promptly enough. "Because, sir, of certain things that don'tappear on the surface of which I happen to have some knowledge."
"May I ask what things?"
He echoed me.
"And may I ask you something, and that is whether you happen to be awarethat the police searched certain premises the other morning?"
"Do you mean the morning of the accident?"
"I do _not_ mean the morning of the accident. I'm speaking of lastFriday morning, at six o'clock, before anybody was about."
I considered a moment. Then, "But why not?" I replied. "Is thereanything unusual about that? Surely when an accident takes place thepolice are the proper people to investigate it?"
I thought he would have jumped out of his chair with vehemence.
"Ah!" he cried. "Now you're talking! That's more like! The properpeople? So they are; you stick to that! And now I'll ask you this: Ifthat's so, why keep things back from them? Why this hushing up? Answerme that. Or bring some of your friends to answer it. That's all I haveto say!"
And he flung himself back in his chair and continued to mutter softly.
It was evident that his choler against Mackwith had risen again. Whathad passed between the two men was no less plain. If Mackwith was rightin his estimate of this fellow, air-raid nights spent in cellars are notthe best of training for duties so unpleasant as those a coroner'sinquest sometimes involves. Billy, on the other hand, did his bit in aField Company and is tempered metal throughout. In any contest of willsbetween two such men there was no doubt which would be the victor. Ithad hardly occurred to Billy that there was a contest. Innocently andunconsciously, he had ridden roughshod over Westbury, and, if Westbury'smutterings meant anything, was to suffer for it.
"But," I said presently, "I'm afraid I don't understand even yet. Itseems to me you're bringing a charge against somebody of interfering ina very serious matter. If anybody has interfered I agree with you thatit's a public scandal and ought to be exposed. But I can't believe I'veunderstood you properly."
He did not reply.
"And not only that," I continued, "but, if you'll forgive my saying so,you're neither bringing a charge nor leaving it alone."
Here, for the first time, a third person put in an aside.
"Tell him about that, Harry," a voice whispered.
(And, feeling pretty sure that I could guess what "That" was, I thought,"Now for that wearisome bullet story all over again!")
"I need hardly say," I went on, "that if you have any such charge tomake there's not a single person who was there who won't gladly helpyou."
("Tell him about that, Harry," the voice whispered again.)
Then it was that Mr. Westbury "went back on" that eager group of muteswho had so scrupulously kept the ring for us. I saw their faces fall as,with a little jerk of his head to me, he rose. Whatever the "That" wast
hey wished him to tell me, they apparently were not to be present atthe telling. Looking back on the scene, I don't think he had anyparticular motive in this except more "gin-and-glory"; he would tellthem all about it, with embellishments, afterwards. He passed down thebar and held the swing door open for me to precede him; then the doorgave a "woff woff" as he followed me out.
VIII
I ask you to notice several untenable points about the position I hadtaken up. Twice at least I had flatly lied, once when I had told himthat I had not seen Mackwith since the morning of the accident, and oncewhen I had given him to understand that I knew nothing of the policesearch of Esdaile's premises. I say nothing of the greater lie, that wewere all ready to help him in his efforts to get to the bottom of theCase. I count that as more the natural momentum the Case itself had nowacquired than any personal untruthfulness on my own part.
Next, I now saw that as an eavesdropper my technique had been painfullyclumsy. I had attracted attention to myself. I had accepted Westbury'shospitality, but (believe me, out of pure forgetfulness) had omitted toreturn it. Several times he had given me an opportunity, which I had nottaken, of telling him my name, though I had admitted my knowledge ofhis. These may seem small things, but there are ways and ways ofdrinking a glass of beer. Within certain limits, I had a distinct senseof social failure.
And if, over and above all this, I had given him and his associatescredit for too little intelligence, that I am afraid is rather a faultof mine. It may even have something to do with my position as a youngernovelist. I constantly forget that one man is as good as another becausehe is as many.
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