_Vagaries of a Viscount._
That every man has a romance in his life has always been a pet theoryof mine, so I was not surprised to find the immaculate Dorking smokinga clay pipe in Cable Street (late Ratcliff Highway) at half-past eightof a winter's morning. Nor was I surprised to find myself there,because, as a romancer, I have a poetic license to go anywhere and seeeverything. Viscount Dorking had just come out of an old clo' shop,and was got up like a sailor. Under his arm was a bundle. He lurchedagainst me without recognising me, for I, too, was masquerading in myshabbiest and roughest attire, and the morning was bleak and foggy,the round red sun flaming in the forehead of the morning sky like theeye of a cyclop. But there could be no doubt it was Dorking--even if Ihad not been acquainted with the sedate Viscount (that paradox of thepeerage, whose treatises on pure mathematics were the joy of SeniorWranglers) I should have suspected something shady from the whitenessof my sailor's hands.
Dorking was a dapper little man, almost dissociable from gloves and achimneypot. The sight of him shambling along like one of the crew ofH. M. S. _Pinafore_ gave me a pleasant thrill of excitement. I turned,and followed him along the narrow yellow street. He made towards theDocks, turning down King David Lane. He was apparently without anyinstrument of protection, though I, for my part, was glad to feel thegrasp of the old umbrella that walks always with me, hand in knob.Hard by the Shadwell Basin he came to a halt before a frowsycoffee-house, reflectively removed his pipe from his mouth, andwhistled a bar of a once popular air in a peculiar manner. Then hepushed open the bleared glass door, and was lost to view.
After an instant's hesitation I pulled my sombrero over my eyes andstrode in after him, plunging into a wave of musty warmth not entirelydisagreeable after the frigid street. The boxes were full of queerwaterside characters, among whom flitted a young woman robustlybeautiful. The Viscount was already smiling at her when I entered."Bring us the usual," he said, in a rough accent.
"Come along, Jenny, pint and one," impatiently growled aweather-beaten old ruffian in a pilot's cap.
"Pawn your face!" murmured Jenny, turning to me with an enquiring air.
"Pint and one," I said boldly, in as husky a tone as I could squeezeout.
Several battered visages, evidently belonging to _habitues_ of theplace, were bent suspiciously in my direction; perhaps because myrig-out, though rough, had no flavour of sea-salt or river-mud, for noone took the least notice of Dorking, except the comely attendant. Iwaited with some curiosity for my fare, which turned out to be nothingmore mysterious than a pint of coffee and one thick slice of bread andbutter. Not to appear ignorant of the prices ruling, I tendered Jennya sixpence, whereupon she returned me fourpence-halfpenny. Thisappeared to me so ridiculously cheap that I had not the courage tooffer her the change as I had intended, nor did she seem to expect it.The pint of coffee was served in one great hulking cup such asGargantua might have quaffed. I took a sip, and found it of theflavour of chalybeate springs. But it was hot, and I made shift todrink a little, casting furtive glances at Dorking, three boxes offacross the gangway.
My gentleman sailor seemed quite at home, swallowing stolidly asthough at his own breakfast-table. I grew impatient for him to havedone, and beguiled the time by studying a placard on the wall offeringa reward for information as to the whereabouts of a certain ship'scook who was wanted for knifing human flesh. And presently, curiouslyenough, in comes a police-sergeant on this very matter, and out goesDorking (rather hastily, I thought), with me at his heels.
No sooner had he got round a corner than he started running at a ratethat gave me a stitch in the side. He did not stop till he reached acab-rank. There was only one vehicle on it, and the coughing,red-nosed driver, unpleasantly suggesting a mixture of grog and fog,was climbing to his seat when I came cautiously and breathlessly up,and Dorking was returning to his trousers' pocket a jingling mass ofgold and silver coins, which he had evidently been exhibiting to thesceptical cabman. He seemed to walk these regions with thefearlessness of Una in the enchanted forest. I had no resource but tohang on to the rear, despite the alarums of "whip behind," raised byenvious and inconsiderate urchins.
And in this manner, defiantly dodging the cabman, who several timesstruck me unfairly behind his back, I drove through a labyrinth ofsordid streets to the Bethnal Green Museum. Here we alighted, and theViscount strolled about outside the iron railings, from time to timeanxiously scrutinising the church clock and looking towards thefountain which only performs in the summer, and was then wearing itswinter night-cap. At last, as if weary of waiting, he walked withsudden precipitation towards the turnstile, and was lost to viewwithin. After a moment I followed him, but was stopped by the janitor,who, with an air of astonishment, informed me there was sixpence topay, it being a Wednesday. I understood at once why the Viscount hadselected this day, for there was no one to be seen inside, and it wasfive minutes ere I discovered him. He was in the National PortraitGallery, before one of Sir Peter Lely's insipid beauties, which to mysurprise he was copying in pencil. Evidently he was trying to whileaway the time. At eleven o'clock to the second he scribbled somethingunderneath the sketch, folded it up carefully, picked up his bundleand walked unhesitatingly downstairs into the second gallery, where,after glancing about to assure himself that the policeman's head wasturned away, he deposited the paper between two bottles of tape-worms,and stole out through the back door. Feverishly seizing the sketch, Ifollowed him, but the policeman's eye was now upon me, and I had towalk with dignified slowness, though I was in agonies lest I shouldlose my man. My anxiety was justified; when I reached the grounds, theViscount was nowhere to be seen. I ran hither and thither like amadman, along the back street and about the grounds, hacking my shinsagainst a perambulator, and at last sank upon a frigid garden seat,breathless and exhausted. I now bethought me of the paper clenched inmy fist, and, smoothing it out, deciphered these words faintlypencilled beneath a caricature of the Court beauty:--
"Not my fault you missed me. If you are still set on your folly, youwill find me lunching at the Chingford Hotel."
I sprang up exultant, new fire in my veins. True, the mystery wasdarkening, but it was the darkness that precedes the dawn.
"_Cherchez la femme!_" I muttered, and darting down Three Colts Lane Ireached the Junction, only to find the barrier dashed in my face. Buthalf-a-crown drove it back, and I sprang into the guard's van on hisvery heels. A shilling stifled the oath on his lips, and transferredit to mine when I discovered I had jumped into the Enfield Fast.Before I really got to Chingford it was long past noon. But I foundhim.
The Viscount was toying with a Chartreuse in the dining-room. Thewaiters eyed me suspiciously, for I was shabby and dusty andhaggard-looking. To my surprise Dorking had doffed the sailor, andwore a loud checked suit! He looked up as I entered, but did notappear to recognise me. There was no one with him. Still I had foundhim. That was the prime thing.
Becoming conscious I was faint with hunger, I took up the menu, whento my vexation I saw the Viscount pay his bill, and don an overcoatand a billy-cock, and ere I could snatch bite or sup I was stridingalong the slimy forest paths, among the gaunt, fog-wrapped trees,following the Viscount by his footprints whenever I lost him for amoment among the avenues. Dorking marched with quick, decisive steps.In the heart of the forest, by a great oak, whose roots sprawled inevery direction, he came to a standstill. Hidden behind somebrushwood, I awaited the sequel with beating heart.
The Viscount took out a great coloured handkerchief, and spread itcarefully over the roots of the oak; then he sat down on thehandkerchief, and whistled the same bar of the same once popular airhe had whistled outside the coffee-house. Immediately a broken-nosedman emerged from behind a bush, and addressed the Viscount. I strainedmy ears, but could not catch their conversation, but I heard Dorkinglaugh heartily, as he sprang up and clapped the man on the shoulder.They walked off together.
I was now excited to the wildest degree; I forgot the pangs of baffledappetite; my whole being was
strung to find a key to the strangeproceedings of the mathematical Viscount. Tracking their doublefootsteps through the mist, I found them hobnobbing in a public-houseon the forest border. After peeping in, I ran round to another door,and stood in an adjoining bar, where, without being seen, I could havea snack of bread and cheese, and hear all.
"Could you bring her round to my house to-night?" said Dorking, in ahoarse whisper. "You shall have the money down."
"Right, sir!" said the man. And then their pewters clinked.
To my chagrin this was all the conversation. The Viscount strode outalone--except for my company. The fog had grown deeper, and I was gladto be conducted to the station. This time we went to Liverpool Street.Dorking lingered at the book-stall, and at last enquired if they hadyesterday's _Times_. Receiving a reply in the negative, he clucked histongue impatiently. Then, as with a sudden thought, he ran up to theNorth London Railway book-stall, only to be again disappointed. Hetook out the great coloured handkerchief, and wiped his forehead. Thenhe entered into confidential conversation with an undistinguishedstranger, fat and foreign, who had been looking eagerly up and down atthe extreme end of the platform. Re-descending into the street, hejumped into a Charing Cross 'bus. As he went inside I had no optionbut to go outside, though the air was yellow and I felt chilled to thebone.
IN CONFIDENTIAL CONVERSATION WITH AN UNDISTINGUISHEDFOREIGNER.]
Alighting at Charing Cross, he went into the telegraph office, andwrote a telegram. The composition seemed to cause him greatdifficulty. Standing outside the door, I saw him discard twohalf-begun forms. When he came out I made a swift calculation of thechances, and determined to secure the two forms, even at the risk oflosing him. Neither had an address. One read: "If you are still set onyour fol--"; the other: "Come to-night if you are still--" Bolting outwith these precious scraps of evidence, that only added fuel to theflame of curiosity that was consuming me, I turned cold to find theViscount swallowed up in the crowd. After an instant's agonisedhesitation, I hailed a hansom, and drove to his flat in VictoriaStreet. The valet told me the Viscount was ill in bed, and could notsee me. I read in his face that it was a lie. I resolved to loiteroutside the building till Dorking's return.
I had not long to wait. In less than ten minutes a hansom dischargedhim at my feet. Had I not been prepared for anything, I should nothave recognised him again in his red whiskers, white hat, and bluespectacles. He rang the bell, and enquired of his own valet ifViscount Dorking was at home. The man said he was ill in bed.
"Oh, we'll soon put him on his legs again," interrupted Dorking, witha professional air, and pushed his valet aside. In that moment thesolution dawned upon me. _Dorking was mad!_ Nothing but insanity wouldaccount for his day's vagaries. I felt it was my duty, as afellow-creature, to look to him. I followed him, to the open-eyedconsternation of the valet. Suddenly he turned upon me, and seized mesavagely by the throat. I felt choking. My worst fear was confirmed.
"No further, my man," he cried, flinging me back. "Now go, and tellher ladyship how you have earned your fee!"
"Dorking! are you mad?" I gasped. "Don't you remember me--Mr.Pry--from the Bachelor's Club?"
"Great heavens, Paul!" he cried. Then he fell back on an ottoman, andlaughed till the whiskers ran down his sides. He always had a sense ofhumour, I remembered.
We explained the situation to each other. Dorking had an eccentricaunt who wished to leave her money to him. Suddenly Dorking learntfrom his valet, who was betrothed to her ladyship's maid, that she hadtaken it into her head he could not be so virtuous and so devoted topure mathematics as he appeared, and so she had commissioned aprivate detective agency to watch her nephew, and discover how deepthe still waters ran. Incensed at the suspicion, he had that daystarted a course of action calculated to bamboozle the agency, andhaving no other meaning whatever.
When he caught sight of me gazing at him so curiously he mistook mefor one of its minions, and determined to lead me a dance; the mistakewas confirmed by my patient obedience to his piping.
The broken-nosed man was an accident. Anticipating his value as abeautiful false clue, Dorking laughed uproariously at the sight ofhim, and readily agreed to buy a French poodle.
The King of Schnorrers: Grotesques and Fantasies Page 13
