The Bandbox

by Louis Joseph Vance

  Produced by Suzanne Shell, Walt Farrell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

  THE BANDBOX

  BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

  The Bandbox Cynthia-of-the-Minute No Man's Land The Fortune Hunter The Pool of Flame The Bronze Bell The Black Bag The Brass Bowl The Private War Terence O'Rourke

  "Now, sir!" she exclaimed, turning

  FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 83_]

  The Bandbox

  BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE

  Author of "The Brass Bowl," "The Bronze Bell," "Cynthia-of-the-Minute," etc.

  With Four Illustrations By ARTHUR I. KELLER

  A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York

  _Copyright, 1911, 1912,_ By Louis Joseph Vance.

  _All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_

  Published, April, 1912 Reprinted, April, 1912 (three times)

  TO LEWIS BUDDY III

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I INTRODUCING MR. IFF 1

  II THE BANDBOX 14

  III TWINS 26

  IV QUEENSTOWN 43

  V ISMAY? 65

  VI IFF? 87

  VII STOLE AWAY! 109

  VIII THE WRONG BOX 128

  IX A LIKELY STORY 158

  X DEAD O' NIGHT 177

  XI THE COLD GREY DAWN 194

  XII WON'T YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR? 216

  XIII WRECK ISLAND 233

  XIV THE STRONG-BOX 254

  XV THE ENEMY'S HAND 275

  XVI NINETY MINUTES 295

  XVII HOLOCAUST 312

  THE BANDBOX

  I

  INTRODUCING MR. IFF

  At half-past two of a sunny, sultry afternoon late in the month ofAugust, Mr. Benjamin Staff sat at table in the dining-room of theAuthors' Club, moodily munching a morsel of cheese and a segment ofcast-iron biscuit and wondering what he must do to be saved from thedeath-in-life of sheer ennui.

  A long, lank gentleman, surprisingly thin, of a slightly saturnine cast:he was not only unhappy, he looked it. He was alone and he was lonely;he was an American and a man of sentiment (though he didn't look _that_)and he wanted to go home; to sum up, he found himself in love and inLondon at one and the same time, and felt precisely as ill at ease inthe one as in the other of these, to him, exotic circumstances.

  Inconceivable as it may seem that any rational man should yearn for NewYork in August, that and nothing less was what Staff wanted with all hisheart. He wanted to go home and swelter and be swindled by taxicabdrivers and snubbed by imported head-waiters; he wanted to patronise thesubway at peril of asphyxiation and to walk down Fifth Avenue at thatwitching hour when electric globes begin to dot the dusk ofevening--pale moons of a world of steel and stone; he wanted to ride inelevators instead of lifts, in trolley-cars instead of trams; he wantedto go to a ball-game at the Polo Grounds, to dine dressed as he pleased,to insult his intelligence with a roof-garden show if he felt sodisposed, and to see for himself just how much of Town had been torndown in the two months of his exile and what they were going to put upin its place. He wanted, in short, his own people; more specifically hewanted just one of them, meaning to marry her if she'd have him.

  Now to be homesick and lovesick all at once is a tremendously disturbingstate of affairs. So influenced, the strongest men are prone to folly.Staff, for instance, had excellent reason to doubt the advisability ofleaving London just then, with an unfinished play on his hands; but hewas really no more than a mere, normal human being, and he did want verybadly to go home. If it was a sharp struggle, it was a short one thatprefaced his decision.

  Of a sudden he rose, called for his bill and paid it, called for his hatand stick, got them, and resolutely--yet with a furtive air, as one whowould throw a dogging conscience off the scent--fled the premises of hisclub, shaping a course through Whitehall and Charing Cross to CockspurStreet, where, with the unerring instinct of a homing pigeon, he dodgedhastily into the booking-office of a steamship company.

  Now Mystery is where one finds it, and Romantic Adventure is as a ruleto be come upon infesting the same identical premises. Mr. Staff was notseeking mysteries and the last role in the world in which he could fancyhimself was that of Romantic Adventurer. But in retrospect he can seequite clearly that it was there, in the humdrum and prosaic setting of asteamship booking-office, that he first stumbled (all unwittingly) intothe toils of his Great Adventure.

  When he entered, there was but one other person on the outer or publicside of the booking-counter; and he, sticking close in a far corner andinaudibly conferring with a clerk, seemed so slight and unpretending abody that Staff overlooked his existence altogether until circumstancesobliged him to recognise it.

  The ignored person, on the other hand, showed an instant interest in theappearance of Mr. Staff. You might have thought that he had been waitingfor the latter to come in--absurd as this might seem, in view of thefact that Staff had made up his mind to book for home only within thelast quarter-hour. None the less, on sight of him this other patron ofthe company, who had seemed till then to be of two minds as to what hewanted, straightened up and bent a freshened interest on the cabin-plotwhich the clerk had spread out upon the counter for his advisement. Anda moment after Staff had audibly stated his wishes, the other prodded acertain spot of the chart with a thin and fragile forefinger.

  "I'll take this one," he said quietly.

  "Upper'r lower?" enquired his clerk.

  "Lower."

  "Then-Q," said the clerk....

  Meanwhile Staff had caught the eye of an impregnable young Englishmanbehind the counter; and, the latter coming forward, he openednegotiations with a succinct statement:

  "I want to book on the Autocratic, sailing tomorrow from Liverpool, ifI'm not mistaken."

  "Quite so," said his clerk, not without condescension. "For yourself,may I awsk?"

  "For myself alone."

  "Then-Q." The clerk fetched a cabin-plot.

  "I'm afraid, sir," he said, removing a pencil from behind his ear thebetter to make his meaning clear, "there's not much choice. It's quitelate to book, you know; and this is the rush season for westboundtraffic; everything's just about full up."

  "I understand; but still you can make room for me somewhere, I hope."

  "Oh, yes. Quite so, indeed. It's only a question of what you'd like. Nowwe have a _cabine de luxe_--"

  "Not for me," said Staff firmly.

  "Then-Q.... The only other accommodation I can offer you is a two-berthstateroom on the main-deck."

  "An outside room?"

  "Yes, sir. You can see for yourself. Here it is: berths 432 and 433.You'll find it quite cosy, I'm sure."

  Staff nodded, eyeing the cubicle indicated by the pencil-point.

  "That'll do," said he. "I'll take it."

  "Then-Q. Upper'r lower berth, sir?"

  "Both," said Staff, trying not to look conscious--and succeeding.

  "Both, sir?"--in tones of pained expostulation.

  "Both!"--reiterated in a manner that challenged curiosity.

  "Ah," said the clerk wearily, "but, you see, I thought I understood youto say you were alone."

  "I did; but I want privacy."

/>   "I see. Then-Q."--as who should say: _Another mad Amayrican_.

  With this the clerk took himself off to procure a blank ticket.

  While he waited, Staff was entertained by snatches of a colloquy at thefar end of the counter, where the other patron was being catechised asto his pedigree by the other booking-clerk. What he heard ran somethingto the following effect:

  "What did you say the name was, sir?"

  "_The_ name?"

  "If you please--"

  "What name?"

  "Your name, sir."

  "I didn't say, did I?"

  "No, sir."

  "Ah! I thought not."

  Pause; then the clerk, patiently: "Do you mind giving me your name, sir,so that I may fill in your ticket?"

  "I'd r'ally rather not; but seein' as it's you and you make a point ofit--Iff."

  Pause.... "Beg pardon?"

  "Iff."

  "If what, sir?"

  "I-double-F, Iff: a name, not a joke. I-F-F--William Howard Iff. W. H.Iff, Whiff: joke."

  "Ow-w?"

  "But you needn't laugh."

  With dignity: "I was not intending to laugh, sir."

  Staff could hardly refrain from refreshing himself with a glance at theindividual so singularly labelled. Appraising him covertly, he saw a manwhose stature was quite as much shorter than the normal as his own waslonger, but hardly less thin. Indeed, Staff was in the habit of defininghis own style of architecture as Gothic, and with reasonable excuse; butreviewing the physical geography of Mr. Iff, the word _emaciation_bobbed to the surface of the literary mentality: Iff was reallyastonishingly slight of build. Otherwise he was rather round-shouldered;his head was small, bird-like, thinly thatched with hair of a faded towcolour; his face was sensitively tinted with the faintest of flushesbeneath a skin of natural pallor, and wore an expression curiously naiveand yet shrewd--an effect manufactured by setting the eyes of a child,round and dimly blue, in a mask of weathered maturity.

  Now while Staff was receiving this impression, Mr. Iff looked sharplyround; their glances crossed. Primarily embarrassed to be caught rudelystaring, Staff was next and thoroughly shocked to detect a distinct ifmomentary eclipse of one of Mr. Iff's pale blue eyes. Bluntly, openly,deliberately, Mr. Iff winked at Mr. Staff, and then, having accomplishedhis amazement and discomfiture, returned promptly, twinkling, to thebaiting of his clerk.

  "Your age, sir?"

  Mr. Iff enquired in simple surprise: "Do you really care to know?"

  "It's required, sir, by the--"

  "Oh, well--if I must! But, mind you, strictly as man to man: you maywrite me down a freeborn American citizen, entitled to vote and more 'nhalf white."

  "_Beg_ pardon?"

  "I say, I am an adult--"

  "Oh!" The clerk wrote; then, bored, resumed: "Married or single,please?"

  "I'm a spinster--"

  "O-w?"

  "Honestly--neither married nor unmarried."

  "Then-Q"--resignedly. "Your business--?"

  But here Staff's clerk touched the exasperated catechist on the shoulderand said something inaudible. The response, while equally inaudible,seemed to convey a sense of profound personal shock. Staff was consciousthat Mr. Iff's clerk glanced reproachfully in his direction, as if tosuggest that he wouldn't have believed it of him.

  Divining that he and Mr. Iff were bargaining for the sameaccommodations, Staff endeavoured to assume an attitude of distinguishedobliviousness to the entire proceeding; and would have succeeded but forthe immediate and impatient action of Mr. Iff.

  That latter, seizing the situation, glanced askance at dignified Mr.Staff, then smiled a whimsical smile, cocked his small head to one sideand approached him with an open and ingenuous air.

  "If it's only a question of which berth," said he, "I'm quite willing toforfeit my option on the lower, Mr. Staff."

  That gentleman started and stared.

  "Oh, lord, man!" said Iff tolerantly--"as if your portrait hadn't beenpublished more times than you can remember!--as if all the world wereunaware of Benjamin Staff, novelist!"

  There was subtle flattery in this; and flattery (we are told) will warmthe most austere of authors--which Staff was not. He said "Oh!" andsmiled his slow, wry smile; and Mr. Iff, remarking these symptoms of athaw with interest and encouragement, pressed his point.

  "I don't mind an upper, really--only chose the lower because the choicewas mine, at the moment. If you prefer it--"

  "The trouble is," Staff interrupted, "I want the whole room."

  "Oh!... Friend with you?"

  "No; but I had some notion of doing a little work on the way over."

  "Writing? I see. But if that's all--!" Mr. Iff routed a negligiblequibble with an airy flirt of his delicate hand. "Trust me; you'llhardly ever be reminded of my existence--I'm _that_ quiet. And besides,I spend most of my time in the smoking-room. And I don't snore, and I'mnever seasick.... By the way," he added anxiously, "do or are you?"

  "Never--"

  "Then we'll get along famously. I'll cheerfully take the upper, and evenshould I tumble out on top of you, you'd never know it: my weight isnothing--hardly that. Now what d' you say? Is it a go?"

  "But--I don't know you--"

  "Business of making a noise like an Englishman!" commented Mr. Iff withbitter scorn.

  "--well enough to accept such a favour from you. I'll take second choicemyself--the upper, I mean."

  "You won't; but we'll settle that on shipboard," said Mr. Iff promptly."As for knowing me--business of introducing myself. Mr. Staff, I wantyou to shake hands with my friend, Mr. Iff. W. H. Iff, Whiff: sometimesso-called: merry wheeze based on my typographical make-up; once a joke,now so grey with age I generally pull it myself, thus saving newacquaintances the mental strain. Practical philanthropy--what? Whim ofmine."

  "Indeed?"

  "Believe _me_. You've no notion how folks suffer in the first throes ofthat giddy pun. And then when it falls flat--naturally _I_ can't laughlike a fool at it any longer--_blooie!_" said Mr. Iff withexpression--"like that--_blooie!_--they _do_ feel so cheap. Wherefore Imaintain I do humanity a service when I beat it to that moth-eaten joke.You follow me?"

  Staff laughed.

  "Then it's all settled. Good! We shan't be in one another's way. You'llsee."

  "Unless you talk in your sleep, too."

  Mr. Iff looked unspeakable reproach. "You'll soon get accustomed to me,"he said, brightening--"won't mind my merry prattle any more 'n the songof a giddy humming-bird."

  He turned and saw their booking-clerks in patient waiting behind thecounter. "Ah, there you are, eh? Well, it's all settled...."

  Thus was the thing accomplished.

  And shortly thereafter these two paused in parting at the door.

  "Going my way?" enquired Mr. Iff.

  Staff named whatever destination he had in mind.

  "Sorry. I go t'other way. Take care of yourself. See you tomorrow."

  "Good-bye," said Staff, and took himself briskly off.

  But Mr. Iff did not at once go in the opposite direction. In fact, hemoved no more than a door or two away, and then stopped, apparentlyfascinated by an especially stupid shop-window show.

  He had very quick eyes, had Mr. Iff, so alert and observant that theyhad made him alive to a circumstance which had altogether escapedStaff's notice--a trifling incident that took place just as they were onthe point of parting.

  While still they were standing in the doorway, a motor-cab, plungingdown Haymarket, had swooped in a wide curve as if meaning to pull in atthe curb in front of the steamship company's office. The cab carried asolitary passenger--a remarkably pretty young woman--and on its roof aremarkably large and ornate bandbox.

  It was, in fact, the bandbox which had first fixed the interest of Mr.Iff. Only an introspective vision, indeed, such as that of theimaginative and thoughtful Mr. Staff, could have overlooked the approachof a bandbox so big and upstanding, so profusely beflowered and soprominently displayed.

  Now
before the cab could stop, its fare, who had been bending forwardand peering out of the window as if anxious to recognise herdestination, started still farther forward, seized the speaking-tube andspoke into its mouthpiece in a manner of sharp urgency. And promptly thedriver swerved out from the curb and swung his car away down Pall Mall.

  If it was mere inquisitiveness that held Mr. Iff rooted to the spot,gaping at that uninteresting window show, it served to discover him inthe guise of an admirably patient person. Fully fifteen minutes elapsedbefore the return of the motor-cab was signalled unmistakably by theblatant bandbox bobbing back high above the press of traffic. And whenthis happened, Mr. Iff found some further business with the steamshipcompany, and quietly and unobtrusively slipped back into thebooking-office.

  As he did so the cab stopped at the curb and the pretty young womanjumped out and followed Mr. Iff across the threshold--noticing him nomore than had Mr. Staff, to begin with.