The City in the Clouds

by Guy Thorne

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I have to tell of a brief interlude before I got to work in earnest.

  The very day after the rediscovery of Rolston I fell ill. The strain hadbeen too much, a severe nervous attack was the result, and my vet.ordered me to the quietest watering-place in Brittany that I could find.I protested, but in vain. The big man told me what would happen if Ididn't go, so I went, _faute-de-mieux_, and took Rolston with me.

  I acquainted Arthur Winstanley and Pat Moore of my movements by letter,and I engaged the seedy Mr. Sliddim to abide permanently in Richmond andto forward me a full report of all he observed, and of all rumors,connected with the City in the Clouds. When I had subscribed to apress-cutting agency to send me everything that appeared in printrelating to Gideon Morse and his fantastic home, I felt I had doneeverything possible until I should be restored to health.

  Of my month in Pont Aven I shall say nothing save that I lived on fineBreton fare, walked ten miles a day, left Rolston--who proved the mostinteresting and stimulating companion a man could have--to answer all myletters, and went to bed at nine o'clock at night.

  Heartache, fear for Juanita, occasional fits of fury at my own inactionand impotence? Yes, all these were with me at times. But I crushed themdown, forced myself to think as little as possible of her, in order thatwhen once restored to health and full command of my nerves, I mightbegin the campaign I had planned. You must picture me therefore, oneafternoon at the end of October, arriving from Paris by the five o'clocktrain, dispatching Rolston to Piccadilly with the luggage, and drivingmyself to Captain Moore's quarters at Knightsbridge Barracks.

  I had summoned a meeting of our league, which we had so fancifully named"Santa Hermandad"--a fact that was to have future consequences whichnone of us ever dreamed of--by telegram from Paris.

  Pat and Arthur were awaiting me in the former's comfortablesitting-room. A warm fire burned on the hearth as we sat down to tea andanchovy toast.

  I had been in more or less frequent communication with both of themduring my sick leave, and when we began to discuss the situation wedispensed with preliminaries.

  It was Pat who, so to speak, took the chair, leaning against an oldWelsh sideboard of oak, crowded with polo and shooting cups, shields forswordsmanship and other trophies.

  "Now, you two," he said, "we know certain facts, and we have arrived atcertain conclusions.

  "First of all, as to the facts. Miss Morse is as good as engaged to Tomhere. Arthur and I are 'also ran.' Fact number one. Fact number two, shehas been suddenly and forcibly taken away from the world, and is ingreat distress of mind. That so, brother leaguers?"

  We murmured assent.

  "Now for our deductions. Morse, divil take him! has some deadlyimportant reason for this fantastic, spectacular show of his. The publicsee it as the fancy of a chap who's so much money he don't know what todo with it, a fellow that's exhausted all sensation and is now tryingfor a new one. Let 'em think so! But _we_ know--here in this room--along sight more than the general public knows. Tom and that youngfly-by-night, with the red hair and the stained-glass-window ears, he'sbeen cartin' about with him, have got behind the scenes."

  Pat's face hardened.

  "We alone are certain that the man Morse, for all his equanimity and themask he has presented to London during the season, has been living underthe influence of some dirty, cowardly fear or other!"

  Arthur interrupted.

  "Fear, if you like, Pat, but I don't think it is probably dirty, or evencowardly. You forget Miss Morse."

  "Perhaps you're right. At any rate, if Gideon Morse is really menaced bysome great danger, what cleverer trick could he have played? To let theworld suppose that it's his whim and fancy to live like a rook at thetop of an elm tree, when all the time he's providing against thepossibility of annihilation, that's a stroke of genius."

  "Good for you, Pat," said Arthur with a wink to me, "you're on the trackof it."

  "Indeed, and I think I am," said the big guardsman simply, "and here'sthe cunning of it, the supreme sense of self-preservation. If that manMorse is in fear of his life, and in fear for his daughter's too, hecouldn't have invented a more perfect security than he has done. Fromall we know, from all Tom has told us, no one can get at them now but anarchangel!"

  Then Arthur spoke.

  "For my part," he said, "as I'm vowed to the service, I'm going straightto Brazil and I'm going to find out everything I can about the past lifeof Gideon Morse. I speak Spanish as you know. I think I'm fairlydiplomatic, and in a little more than a couple of months I'll returnwith big news, if I'm not very much mistaken. And there's always thecable too. We are pledged to Tom, but beyond that we're united togetherto save the little lady from evil or from harm. To-morrow I sail forRio."

  "And I," I said, "have already made my plans. To-morrow I disappearabsolutely from ordinary life. Only two people in London will know whereI am, and what I am doing--Preston, my servant in Piccadilly, and oneother whom I shall appoint at the offices of my paper. While Arthur isgathering information which will be of the greatest use, I must beworking on the spot. I imagine there isn't much time to lose."

  "And what'll I do?" asked Pat Moore.

  "You, Pat, will stay here, lead your ordinary life, and hold yourselfready for anything and everything when I call upon you. And as far as Ican see," I concluded, "there will be a very pressing necessity for yourhelp before much more water has flowed under Richmond Bridge."

  There was an end of talking; we were all in deadly earnest. We graspedhands, arranged a system of communication, and then I and Arthur wentdown the stone steps, across the parade ground, and said good-by at HydePark corner.

  "You--?" he said.

  "You will see in the papers that Sir Thomas Kirby is gone for a voyageround the world."

  "And as a matter of fact?"

  "I think I won't give you any details, old man. My plan is a very oddone indeed. You wouldn't quite understand, and you'd think itextraordinary--as indeed it is."

  "It can't be more fantastic than the whole bitter business," he said,and his voice was full of pain.

  I saw, for the first time, that he had grown older in the last fewmonths. The boyishness in him which had been one of his charms, waspassing away definitely and forever. He was hard hit, as we all were,and I reproached myself for my egotism. After all, if there was any hopeat all, I was the most fortunate. Arthur and staunch old Pat Moore weregiving up their time, their energies, to bring about a conclusion fromwhich I alone should benefit.

  We were crossing the Green Park as this was borne in upon me. It was adull, gray afternoon, rapidly deadening into evening. There seemed nocolor anywhere. But when I thought of the faithful, uncomplaining, evenjoyous adherence to our oath, when I understood for the first time howthese two friends of mine were laboring without hope of reward, then Isaw, as in a vision, the wonder and sacredness of unselfish love.

  "Arthur," I said, as we were about to part at Hyde Park corner, "Godforgive me, but I believe your love for her is greater than mine."

  "Don't say that, Tom. When we threw the dice, if the Queen had come tome you would be doing what I am doing now, or what Pat is ready to do."

  Well, of course, that was true, but when we gripped hands and turned ourbacks upon each other, I walked slowly towards my flat with a hanginghead.

  For one brief moment I had caught a glimpse of that love which Dantespeaks of--that love "which moves earth and all the stars"--and in thepresence of so high a thing I was bowed and humbled.

  Let me also be worthy of such company, was my prayer.

  * * * * *

  At ten o'clock the next morning I stood in my bedroom with Preston inattendance. Preston's face, usually a well-bred mask which showednothing of his feelings, was gravely distressed.

  "Shall I do, Preston?" I asked.

  "Yes, Sir Thomas, you'll _do_," he said regretfully, "but I must say,Sir Thomas, that--"

  "Shut up, Preston, you've sai
d quite enough. Am I the real thing ornot?"

  "Certainly not, Sir Thomas," he said with spirit. "How could you be thereal thing? But I'm bound to say you _look_ it."

  "You mean that your experience of a small but prosperous suburbanpublic-house, visited principally by small tradespeople, leads you tosuppose that I might pass very well for the landlord of such a place?"

  "I am afraid it does, Sir Thomas," he replied with a gulp, as I surveyedmyself once more in the long mirror of my wardrobe door.

  I was about six feet high in my boots, fair, with a ruddy countenanceand somewhat fleshy face--not gross I believe, but generally built upona generous scale.

  That morning I had shaved off my mustache, had my hair arranged in a newway--that is to say, with an oily curl draping over the forehead--and Ihad very carefully penciled some minute crimson veins upon my nose. Iought to say that I have done a good deal of amateur acting in my timeand am more or less familiar with the contents of the make-up box.

  [NOTE.--My master, Sir Thomas Kirby, has long been known as one of the handsomest gentlemen in society. He has a full face certainly, but entirely suited to his build and physical development. Of course, when he shaved off a mustache that was a model of such adornments, it did alter his appearance considerably.--HENRY PRESTON.]

  Instead of the high collar of use and wont, I wore a low one,permanently attached to what I believe is known as a "dicky"--that is tosay, a false shirt front which reaches but little lower than the openingof the waistcoat. My tie was a made-up four-in-hand of crimsonsatin--not too new, my suit of very serviceable check with largeside-pockets, purchased second-hand, together with other oddments, froma shop in Covent Garden. I also wore a large and massive goldwatch-chain, and a diamond ring upon the little finger of my right hand.

  That was all, yet I swear not one of my friends would have known me, andwhat was more important still, I was typical without having overdone it.No one in London, meeting me in the street, would have turned to looktwice at me. You could not say I was really disguised--in the truemeaning of the word--and yet I was certainly entirely transformed, andwith my cropped hair, except for the "quiff" in front, I looked asblatant and genial a bounder as ever served a pint of "sixes."

  Preston had left the room for a moment and now came back to say that Mr.W. W. Power had arrived.

  W. W. Power was the youngest partner in a celebrated firm of solicitors,Power, Davids and Power--a firm that has acted for my father and myselffor more years than I can remember.

  Under his somewhat effeminate exterior and a languid manner, young Poweris one of the sharpest and cleverest fellows I know, and, what's more,one that can keep his mouth shut under any circumstances.

  I went into the dining-room, hoping to make him start. Not a bit of it.He merely put up his eyeglass and said laconically: "You'll do, SirThomas"--not more than two years ago he had been an under-graduate atCambridge!

  "You think so, Power?"

  He nodded and looked at his watch.

  "All right then, we'll be off," I said, and Preston called a taxi, onwhich were piled a large brass-bound trunk and a shabbyportmanteau--also recent purchases, and with the name H. Thomas paintedboldly upon them. Preston's Christian name by the way is Henry and I hadborrowed it for the occasion.

  I got into the cab with a curious sensation that some one might belooking on and discover me. Power seated himself by my side with noindication of thought at all, and we rolled away westward.

  "Nothing remains," he said, "but to complete the documents of sale.Everything is ready, and I have the money in notes in my pocket. Thesolicitor of the retiring proprietor will be in attendance, and thewhole thing won't take more than twenty minutes. Newby, the present man,will then step out and leave you in undisturbed possession."

  "Very good, Power, and thank you for your negotiations. Seven thousandpounds seems a lot of money for a little hole like that."

  "It isn't really. You see the place is freehold and the house is freealso. It's not under the dominion of any brewer, and when your purposein being there is over, I'll guarantee to sell it again for the samemoney, probably a few hundreds more. As an investment it's soundenough."

  He relapsed into silence and we rattled through Hammersmith on our wayto Richmond. I was curious about this imperturbable young man, whom Iknew rather well.

  "Aren't you curious, Power," I said, "to know why I'm doing thisextraordinary, unprecedented thing? I can trust you absolutely I know,but haven't you asked yourself what the deuce I'm up to?"

  He favored me with a pale smile.

  "My dear Sir Thomas," he replied, "if you only knew what extraordinarythings society people _do_ do, if you knew a tenth of what a solicitorin my sort of practice knows, you wouldn't think there was anythingparticularly strange in your little freak."

  Confound the cub! I could have punched him in the jaw. I knew hisassurance was all pose. Still it was admirable in its way and I burstinto hearty laughter.

  I had the satisfaction of seeing Master Power's cheeks faintly tingedwith pink!

  On the slope of the hill, at what one might describe as the back of thehigh wall which inclosed the grounds at the foot of the threetowers--that is to say, it was exactly opposite the great centralentrance, and I suppose nearly quarter of a mile from it if one drew astraight line from one to the other--was a crowded huddle of meanstreets. It was not in any sense a slum--nothing so picturesque--small,drab, shabby, and respectable. In the center of this area was afair-sized, but old-fashioned, public-house, known as the "Golden Swan."This was our destination, and in a few minutes more we had climbed thehill and the taxi stood at rest before a side door.

  Opening it we entered, Power leading the way, and as we approached somestairs I caught a glimpse of a little plush-furnished bar to the left,where I could have sworn I saw the melancholy Sliddim in company with apewter pot.

  We waited for a moment or two in a long upstairs room. The walls werecovered with beasts, birds, and fishes, in glass cases, all of whichlooked as if they ought to be decently buried. Upon one wall was animmense engraving framed in boxwood of the execution of Mary, Queen ofScots, and upon a huge mahogany sideboard which looked as if it had beenbuilt to resist a cavalry charge, was a tray with hospitable bottles.

  Then the door opened and a dapper little man with side whiskers, thevendor's solicitor, came in, accompanied by Mr. Newby, the retiringlandlord himself.

  Mr. Newby, dressed I was glad to notice, very much as myself, only thediamond ring upon his finger was rather larger, was a short, fat man ofbenevolent aspect, and I should say suffering from dropsy. We shookhands heartily.

  "Thirty years have I been landlord here," wheezed Mr. Newby, "and nowit's time the 'ouse was in younger 'ands. Your respectability 'as beenvouched for, Mr. Thomas--I wouldn't sell to no low blackguard for twicethe money--and all I can say is, young feller, for you are a youngfeller to me, you know--I 'ope you'll be as 'appy and prosperous in the'Golden Swan' as Emanuel Newby 'ave been."

  I thought it was best to be a little awkward and bashful, so I said verylittle while the lawyers fussed about with title deeds, and at last theeventful moment came when one does that conjuring trick in which thegentlemen of the law take such infantile delight. "Put your finger here,yes, on this red seal and say...."

  When it was all done and Mr. Newby had stowed away seven thousand poundsin bank-notes in a receptacle over his heart, we drank to the occasionin some remarkably good champagne and then, with a sigh, theex-proprietor announced his intention of being off.

  "My luggage has preceded me," he said, "and I have nothing to do now butretire, as I 'ave long planned, to the city of my birth."

  "And where may that be, Mr. Newby?" I asked politely.

  "The University City of Oxford," he replied, "which, if you've not knownintimate as I 'ave, you can never begin to understand. There's anatmosphere there, Mr. Thomas, but Lord, you won't be interested!" and hewheezed superior.

  The situation was no
t without humor.

  When he had gone, together with his solicitor, Power rang the bell.

  "As you wish me to manage everything for you," he said, "I have done so.Your entire ignorance of the liquor trade will be compensated by theknowledge and devotion of the assistant I have procured for you, aftermany inquiries. His name is Whistlecraft, and he is an Honest Fool. Hewon't rob you, though he'll probably diminish your profits greatly byhis stupidity--but as I understand, profit from the sale of drinks isn'tyour object. He will obey orders implicitly, without even trying tounderstand their reason, and in short you couldn't have a better man foryour purpose."

  When Whistlecraft appeared I perfectly agreed with Power. He was apowerful fellow in shirt sleeves, aged about thirty-five, with arms thatcould have felled an ox. Had he shaved within the last three days hewould have been clean shaved, and his hair was polished to a mirror-likesurface with suet--I caught him doing it one day. I never saw such calmon any human face. It was the tranquillity of an entire absence ofintellect, a rich and perfect stupidity which nothing could penetrate,nothing disturb. His eyes were dull as unclean pewter, without life orspeculation, and I knew at once that if I told him to go down into thecellar, wait there till a hyena entered, strangle it, skin it, and bringthe pelt upstairs to me, he would depart upon his errand without a word!

  Power went away with the most conventional of handshakes--we might havebeen parting in Pall Mall--and I was left alone, monarch of all Isurveyed.

  "What's the staff beside you, Whistlecraft?" I asked.

  "Mrs. Abbs, sir, cooks and sweeps up, sleeps out. Peter, the odd-jobboy, washes bottles and such, and that's all."

  "Then at closing time, you and I are left alone in the house?"

  "Yes, sir."

  There was a loud and impatient knocking from somewhere below.

  "I'd better go and serve, sir, hadn't I?" said Whistlecraft--I foundlater his name was Stanley--and I let him go at that.

  I spent the next hour going over the premises from cellar to roof andmaking many mental notes, for I had come here with a definite purpose,and plans already made.

  It was an extraordinary situation to be in. I sat in a little privateroom behind the bar and every now and again Stanley's idiot countenanceappeared, and I had to go behind the counter and be introduced to thisor that regular frequenter. I asked every one to have a drink, for thegood of the house, and trust I made a fair impression. They all seemedquiet, respectable people enough, who knew each other well.

  In the evening I was greatly helped by Sliddim, who was now a seasonedhabitue of the "Golden Swan," and whom from the moment of my arrivalslipped into the position of Master of the Ceremonies, which saved me agreat deal of trouble.

  It will be remembered that all the time that I was in Brittany, Sliddimhad been employed in my interests at Richmond. Bill Rolston vouchedabsolutely for the man's fidelity: had told me I could safely trust himin any way. Accordingly, there was perhaps a little misgiving, I hadreleased him from his employment at the third-class detective agencywhere he worked, and took him permanently into my service. I may say atonce, though he took no prominent part in the great events whichfollowed until the very end, he was of considerable use to me and keptmy secrets perfectly.

  At closing time that night, Mrs. Abbs, the cook, having spread a hotsupper in the private room behind the bar and left, I called the potmanin from his washing-up of glass and bade him share the meal.

  "Now I tell you what, Stanley," I said, when we had filled our pipes,"in the tower inclosure there's a whole colony of Chinks, isn't there?"

  "Yes, sir; gardeners, stokers for the engines and such like. They say asthere isn't a white man among 'em, except only the boss, and he's anIrishman."

  "They don't always live inside that wall?" I jerked my head towards awindow which looked out into my back yard, not a hundred feet away fromthe towering precipice of brick which overshadowed the "Golden Swan,"and the surrounding houses.

  "Oh, not by no means. They comes out when their work's done in theevenings, though they goes back to sleep and has to be in by a certaintime. They do say," and here something happened to Stanley's face whichI afterwards grew to recognize as a smile, "they do say as some of thegirls downtown are takin' up with 'em, seein' as they dress well, andspend a lot of money."

  "I suppose they have somewhere where they go?"

  "It's mostly the 'Rising Sun' down by the station, I am told. The bossthere was a sailor and understands their ways. He's given them a room tothemselves."

  I was perfectly aware of all this, but I had a special motive for thepresent conversation.

  "Now, it's come into my mind," I said, "that there's a lot of customgoing downtown that ought by rights to come to the 'Golden Swan,' seeingthat we are close at the gates, so to speak, and I mean to do what Ican to get hold of it. A Chink's money is as good as anybody else's,Stanley, that's my way of looking at it."

  He chewed the cud of that idea for a minute or two and then it dawned inthe pudding of his mind.

  "Why, yes," he said, in the voice of one who had made a great discovery.

  "Now, there's that room upstairs," I went on, "I shall never use it. Ifwe could get some of these Chinks to drop in there of a night it wouldbe good business."

  "There's just one thing against it," said Stanley, "if you'll pardon myspeaking of it, sir. I'm willing to do everything in reason, and I'm notafraid of work. But I don't see as 'ow I can attend to both the saloonand the four-ale bars if I'm to be going upstairs slinging drinks to theChinks."

  "Of course you can't and I wasn't going to suggest it. We must get anextra help--if we can get the Chinks to use the house. We might have abarmaid."

  He shook his head.

  "It wouldn't work, sir; you'd have to get a new one every week. A youngwoman can't resist a Chink and they'd marry off like--"

  Stanley was unable to think of a simile so he buried his face in hispewter pot.

  Really things were going very well for me.

  "I believe you are right. Supposing I could get a young fellow who wasone of themselves and could speak their lingo. There are lots to bepicked up about the docks. I mean some quiet young Chink, who wouldattend to his fellow-countrymen in the evening, and relieve you of a lotof the washing-up and things of that sort during the day?"

  Mr. Stanley Whistlecraft was not so stupid as to miss the advantages ofsuch a proposal as this.

  "You've 'it on the very plan, sir," he said, "and especial if he couldwash up them thin glasses which the gentlemen in the saloon bar like to'ave, it would be a great saving. I never could 'andle them thingsproperly. You put your fingers on 'em and they crack worse than eggs.Pewters, I can polish with any man alive, pot mugs seldom break, aslikewise them thick reputed half-pints which will break a man's 'edopen, as I've proved. But these Chinks are as 'andy as any girl, and Ithink, sir, you've got 'old of an idea."

  "I'll see about it in the morning. I've got a pal that has a nice littlehouse in the Mile End Road, and I believe he could send me just the ladI want. Well, now you can go to bed, Stanley. Everything locked up?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then I'll put out the lights."

  He bade me a gruff good-night and lurched heavily away. I heard himascending the stairs to his room at the back of the house and then I wasleft alone.

  The first thing I did was to turn down the sleeves of my shirt and puton my coat. It isn't etiquette to sup in your coat, I had gathered fromMr. Whistlecraft's custom when he accepted my invitation.

  Then I unlocked a drawer in which was a box of cigars such as the"Golden Swan" had never known, and stretching out my legs, stared intothe fire.

  I was doing the wildest, maddest thing, but so far all had gone well. Iwas, as it were, a solitary swimmer in deep and dangerous waters, on thethreshold of experiences which I knew instinctively would transcend allthose of ordinary life. I was perfectly certain, something in my inmostsoul told me, that I was about to step into unknown perils, and tocontend with biz
arre and sinister forces of which I had no means ofmeasuring the power or extent.

  I don't mind admitting that on that first night in the "Golden Swan,"fate weighed heavily on me and I thought I heard the muffled laughter ofmalignant things.

  However, I was in for it now. I finished my cigar, went into the bar andselected a certain bottle of whisky--the excellent Stanley had warned methat this was the landlord's bottle and of a much more reputable qualitythan that served to the landlord's guests. After a very moderate"nightcap" I put on carpet slippers and went up to my room, which I hadchosen at the very top of the house. It was a large attic, just underthe roof, and in a few days I proposed to make it more habitable withsome new furniture and decoration. Meanwhile, I had chosen it because,in one corner, some wooden steps went up to a trap-door which opened onto the roof, where there was a flat space of some three yards squareamong the chimneys. Just before going up to bed I turned up the collarof my dressing-gown, ascended the ladder, pushed open the trap-door andstepped out on to the leads.

  It was a still, moonlight night. Looking over the roofs of the houses Icould see the Thames winding like a silver ribbon far down below, ascene of utter tranquillity and peace.

  Then I wheeled round to be confronted with the great black wall whichrose several yards above me, within a pistol shot of distance.

  But my eye traveled up beyond that and was caught in a colossal networkof steel, so bold, towering and gigantic in its nearness that it almostmade me reel. I stared up among the dark shadows and moonlit spaces tillmy eye reached an altitude which I knew to be about the height of theGolden Ball on the top of Saint Paul's Cathedral.

  There the vision checked. I could see a blur of low buildings, a web oflatticed galleries, and I knew that I was looking only up at the very_first stage_ of the City in the Clouds, which must be lying bare to themoon some sixteen hundred feet above.

  I could see no more. The first stage barred all further vision, thoughthat in itself seemed terrible in its height and majesty. So I closed myeyes and imagined only those supreme heights where she must be sleeping.

  "Good-night, Juanita," I murmured, and then, as I descended into my roomthe words of the Psalmist came to me and I said, "Oh, that I had thewings of a dove!"