BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA
VIII.
"Some, when they take _Revenge_, are Desirous the party should know
whence it cometh: This is the more Generous."--BACON.
In the Tottenham Court Road was a certain Commercial Dining-room, where
Leander occasionally took his evening meal, after the conclusion of his
day's work, and where Mr. Freemoult was accustomed to take his supper,
on leaving the British Museum Library.
To this eating-house Leander repaired the very next evening, urged by a
consuming desire to learn the full particulars of the adventure which
his prototype in misfortune had met with.
It was an unpretending little place, with the bill of fare wafered to
the door, and red curtains in the windows, setting off a display of
joints, cauliflowers, and red herrings. He passed through into a long,
low room, with dark-brown grained walls, partitioned off in the usual
manner; and taking a seat in a box facing the door, he ordered dinner
from one of the shirtsleeved attendants.
The first glance had told him that the man he wished to see was not
there, but he knew he must come in before long; and, in fact, before
Leander's food could be brought, the old scholar made his appearance.
He was hardly a man of attractive exterior, being of a yellow
complexion, with a stubbly chin, and lank iron-grey locks. He wore a
tall and superannuated hat with a staring nap, and the pockets of his
baggy coat bulged with documents. Altogether he did not seem exactly the
person to be an authority on the subject of Venus.
But, as the hairdresser was aware, he had the reputation of being a mine
of curious and out-of-the-way information, though few thought it worth
their while to work him. He gained a living, however, by hackwork of
various descriptions, and was in slightly better circumstances than he
allowed to appear.
As he passed slowly along the central passage, in his usual state of
abstraction, Leander touched him eagerly on the sleeve. "Come in 'ere,
Mr. Freemoult, sir," he said; "there's room in this box."
"It's the barber, is it?" said the old man. "What do you want me to eat
with you for, eh?"
"Why, for the pleasure of your company, sir, of course," said Leander,
politely.
"Well," said the old gentleman, sitting down, while documents bristled
out of him in all directions, "there are not many who would say
that--not many now."
"Don't you say so, Mr. Freemoult, sir. I'm sure it's a benefit, if only
for your conversation. I often say, 'I never meet Mr. Freemoult without
I learn somethink;' I do indeed."
"Then we must have met less often than I had imagined."
"Now, you're too modest, sir; you reelly are--a scholar like you, too!
Talking of scholarship, you'll be gratified to hear that that title you
were good enough to suggest for the 'Regenerator' is having a quite
surprising success. I disposed of five bottles over the counter only
yesterday." ("These old scholars," was his wily reflection, "like being
flattered up.")
"Does that mean you've another beastly bottle you want me to stand
godfather to?" growled the ungrateful old gentleman.
"Oh no, indeed, sir! It's only----But p'r'aps you'll allow me previously
the honour of sending out for whatever beverage you was thinking of
washing down your boiled beef with, sir."
"Do you know who I am?" Mr. Freemoult burst out. "I'm a scholar, and
gentleman enough still to drink at my own expense!"
"I intended no offence, I'm sure, sir; it was only meant in a friendly
way."
"That is the offence, sir; that _is_ the offence! But, there, we'll say
no more about it; you can't help your profession, and I can't help my
prejudices. What was it you wanted to ask me?"
"Well," said Leander, "I was desirous of getting some information
respecting--ahem--a party by the name of (if I've caught the foreign
pronounciation) Haphrodite, otherwise known as Venus. Do you happen to
have heard tell of her?"
"Have I had a classical education, sir, or haven't I? Heard of her? Of
course I have. But why, in the name of Mythology, any hairdresser living
should trouble his head about Aphrodite, passes my comprehension. Leave
her alone, sir!"
"It's her who won't leave _me_ alone!" thought Leander; but he did not
say so. "I've a very particular reason for wishing to know; and I'm sure
if you could tell me all you'd heard about her, I'd take it very kind of
you."
"Want to pick my brains; well, you wouldn't be the first. But I am
here, sir, to rest my brain and refresh my body, not to deliver
peripatetic lectures to hairdressers on Grecian mythology."
"Well," said Leander, "I never meant you to give your information
peripatetic; I'm willing to go as far as half a crown."
"Conf----But, there, what's the good of being angry with you? Is this
the sort of thing you want for your half-crown?--Aphrodite, a later form
of the Assyrian Astarte; the daughter, according to some theogonies, of
Zeus and Dione; others have it that she was the offspring of the foam of
the sea, which gathered round the fragments of the mutilated Uranos----"
"That don't seem so likely, do it, sir?" said Leander.
"If you are going to crop in with idiotic remarks, I shall confine
myself to my supper."
"Don't stop, Mr. Freemoult, sir; it's most instructive. I'm attending."
But the old gentleman, after a manner he had, was sunk in a dreamy
abstraction for the moment, in which he apparently lost the thread, as
he resumed, "Whereupon Zeus, to punish her, gave her in wedlock to his
deformed son, Hephæstus."
"She never mentioned him to _me_," thought Leander; "but I suppose she's
a widow goddess by this time; I'm sure I _hope_ so."
"Whom," Mr. Freemoult was saying, "she deceived upon several occasions,
notably in the case of ----" And here he launched into a scandalous
chronicle, which determined Leander more than ever that Matilda must
never know he had entertained a personage with such a past.
"Angered by her indiscretions, Zeus inspired her with love for a mortal
man."
"Poor devil!" said Leander, involuntarily. "And what became of _him_,
sir?"
"There were several thus distinguished; amongst others, Anchises,
Adonis, and Cinyras. Of these, the first was struck by lightning; the
second slain by a wild boar; and the third is reputed to have perished
in a contest with Apollo."
"They don't seem to have had no luck, any of them," was Leander's
depressed conclusion.
"Aphrodite, or Venus, as you choose to call her, took a prominent part
in the Trojan war, the origin of which ten years' struggle may be traced
to a certain golden apple."
"What an old rag-bag it is!" thought Leander. "I'm only wasting money on
him. He's like a bran-pie at a fancy fair: what you get out of him is
always the thing you didn't want."
"No, no, Mr. Freemoult," he said, with some impatience; "leave out about
the war and the apple. It--it isn't either of them as I wanted to hear
about."
"Then I have done," said the old man, curtly. "You've had considerably
more than half a crown's worth, as it is."
"Look here, Mr. Freemoult," said the reckless hairdresser, "if you can't
give me no better value, I don't mind laying out another sixpence in
questions."
"Put your questions, then, by all means; and I'll give you your fair
sixpenn'orth of answers. Now, then, I'm ready for you. What's your
difficulty? Out with it."
"Why," said Leander, in no small confusion, "isn't there a story
somewhere of a statue to Venus as some young man (a long time back it
was, of course) was said to have put his ring on? and do you know the
rights of it? I--I can't remember how it ended, myself."
"Wait a bit, sir; I think I do remember something of the legend you
refer to. You found it in the _Earthly Paradise_, I make no doubt?"
"I found it in Rosherwich Gardens," Leander very nearly blurted out; but
he stopped himself, and said instead, "I don't think I've ever been
there, sir; not to remember it."
"Well, well! you're no lover of poetry, that's very evident; but the
story is there. Yes, yes; and Burton has a version of it, too, in his
_Anatomy_. How does it go? Give my head a minute to clear, and I'll tell
you. Ha! I have it! It was something like this: There was a certain
young gentleman of Rome who, on his wedding-day, went out to play
tennis; and in the tennis-court was a brass statue of the goddess
Venus----"
("Mine _ought_ to be brass, from her goings on," thought Leander.)
"And while he played he took off his finger-ring and put it upon the
statue's hand; a mighty foolish act, as you will agree."
"Ah!" said Leander, shaking his head; "you may say that! What next,
sir?" He became excited to find that he really was on the right track at
last.
"Why, when the game was over, and he came to get his ring, he found he
couldn't get it off again. Ha! ha!" and the old man chuckled softly, and
then relapsed once more into silence.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Freemoult, sir! I'm a-listening; it's very funny; only do
go on!"
"Go on? Where was I? Hadn't I finished? Ah, to be sure! Well, so Paris
gave _her_ the apple, you see."
"I didn't understand you to allude to no apple," said his puzzled
hearer; "and it was at Rome, I thought, not Paris. Bring your mind more
to it, sir; we'd got to the ring not coming off the statue."
"I know, sir; I know. My mind's clear enough, let me tell you. That very
night (as I was about to say, if you'd had patience to hear me) Venus
stepped in and parted the unfortunate pair----"
"It was a apple just now, you aggravating old muddle 'ed!" said Leander,
internally.
"Venus informed the young man that he had betrothed himself to her by
that ring" ("Same game exactly," thought the pupil), "and--and, in
short, she led him such a life for some nights, that he could bear it no
longer. So at length he repaired to a certain mighty magician
called----Let me see, what was his name again? It wasn't Agrippa--was it
Albertus? Odd; it has escaped me for the moment."
"Never mind, sir; call him Jones."
"I will _not_ call him Jones, sir! I had it on my tongue--there,
_Palumbus_! Palumbus it was. Well, Palumbus told him the goddess would
never cease to trouble him, unless he could get back the ring--unless he
could get back the ring."
Leander's heart began to beat high; the solution of his difficulty was
at hand. It was something to know for certain that upon recovery of the
ring the goddess's power would be at an end. It only remained to find
out how the other young man managed it. "Yes, Mr. Freemoult?" he said
interrogatively; for the old gentleman had run down again.
"I was only thinking it out. To resume, then. No sooner had the magician
(whose name as I said was Apollonius) come to the wedding, than he
promptly conjectured the bride to be a serpent; whereupon she vanished
incontinently, after the manner of serpents, with the house and
furniture."
"Haven't you missed out a lot, sir?" inquired Leander, deferentially;
"because it don't seem to me to hook on quite. What became of Venus and
the ring?"
"How the dickens am I to tell you, if you will interrupt? Ring! _What_
ring? Why, yes; the magician gave the young man a certain letter, and
told him to go to a particular cross-road outside the city, at dead of
night, and wait for Saturn to pass by in procession, with his fallen
associates. This he did, and presented the magician's letter; which
Saturn, after having read, called Venus to him, who was riding in front,
and commanded her to deliver up the ring."
Here he stopped, as if he had nothing to add.
"And did she, sir?" asked Leander, breathlessly.
"Did she what? give up the ring? Of course she did. Haven't I been
saying so? Why not?"
"Well," observed Leander, "so that's how _he_ got out of it, was it?
Hah! he was a lucky chap. Those were the days when magicians did a good
trade, I suppose? Should you say there were any such parties now, on the
quiet like, eh, sir?"
"Bah! Magic is a lost art, degraded to dark séances and juvenile
parties--the last magician dead for more than two hundred years. Don't
expose your ignorance, sir, by any more such questions."
"No," said Leander; "I thought as much. And so, if any one was to get
into such a fix nowadays--of course, that's only my talk, but if they
did--there ain't a practising magician anywhere to help him out of it.
That's your opinion, ain't it, sir?"
"As the danger of such a contingency is not immediate," was the reply,
"the want of a remedy need not, in my humble opinion, cause you any
grave uneasiness."
"No," agreed Leander, dejectedly. "I don't care, of course. I was only
thinking that, in case--but there, it's no odds! Well, Mr. Freemoult,
you've told me what I was curious to know, and here's your little
honnyrarium, sir--two shillings and two sixpences, making three
shillings in all, pre-cisely."
"Keep your money, sir," said the old man, with contemptuous good humour.
"My working hours are done for the day, and you're welcome enough to any
instruction you're capable of receiving from my remarks. It's not saying
much, I dare say."
"Oh, you told it very clear, considering, sir, I'm sure! I don't grudge
it."
"Keep it, I tell you, and say no more about it."
So, expressing his thanks, Leander left the place; and, when he was
outside, felt more keenly than ever the blow his hopes had sustained.
He knew the whole story of his predecessor in misfortune now, and, as a
precedent, it was worse than useless.
True, for an instant a wild idea had crossed his mind, of seeking some
lonely suburban cross-road at dead of night, just to see if anything
came of it. "The last time was several hundred years ago, it seems," he
told himself; "but there's no saying that Satan mightn't come by, for
all that. Here's Venus persecuting as lively as ever, and I never heard
the devil was dead. I've a good mind to take the tram to the Archway,
and walk out till I find a likely-looking place."
But, on reflection, he gave this up. "If he did come by, I couldn't
bring him a line--not even from the conjuror in High 'Oborn--and Satan
might make me put my hand to something binding, and I shouldn't be no
better off. No; I don't see no way of getting back my ring and poor
Tillie's cloak, nor yet getting rid of that goddess, any more than
before. There's one comfort, I can't be any worse off than I am."
Oppressed by these gloomy reflections, he returned to his home,
expecting a renewal of his nightly persecution from the goddess; but
from some cause, into which he was too grateful to care to inquire, the
statue that evening showed no sign of life in his presence, and after
waiting with the cupboard open for some time in suspense, he ventured to
make himself some coffee.
He had scarcely tasted it, however, before he heard, from the passage
below, a low whistle, followed by the peculiar stave by which a modern
low-life Blondel endeavours to attract attention. The hairdresser paid
no attention, being used, as a Londoner, to hearing such signals, and
not imagining they could be intended for his ear.
But presently a handful of gravel rattled against his window, and the
whistle was repeated. He went to the window cautiously, and looked out.
Below were two individuals, rather carefully muffled; their faces, which
were only indistinctly seen, were upturned to him.
He retreated, trembling. He had had so much to think of lately, that the
legal danger he was running, by harbouring the detested statue, was
almost forgotten; but now he remembered the Inspector's words, and his
legs bent beneath him. Could these people be _detectives_?
"Is that Mr. Tweddle up there?" said a voice below--"because if it is,
he'd better come down, double quick, and let us in, that's all!"
"'Ere, don't you skulk up there!" added a coarser voice. "We know
y'er there; and if yer don't come down to us, why, we'll come up to
you!"
This brought Leander forward again. "Gentlemen," he said, leaning out,
and speaking in an agitated whisper, "for goodness' sake, what do you
want with me?"
"You let us in, and we'll tell you."
"Will it do if I come down and speak to you outside?" said Leander.
There was a consultation between the two at this, and at the end of it
the first man said: "It's all the same to us, where we have our little
confabulation. Come down, and look sharp about it!"
Leander came down, taking care to shut the street door behind him. "You
ain't the police?" he said, apprehensively.
They each took an arm, and walked him roughly off between them towards
Queen Square. "We'll show you who we are," they said.
"I--I demand your authority for this," gasped Leander. "What am I
charged with?"
They had brought him into the gloomiest part of the square, where the
houses, used as offices in the daytime, were now dark and deserted. Here
they jammed him up against the railings, and stood guard over him, while
he was alarmed to perceive a suppressed ferocity in the faces of both.
"What are you charged with? Grr----! For 'arf a pint I'd knock your
bloomin 'ed in!" said the coarser gentleman of the two--an evasive form
of answer which did not seem to promise a pleasant interview.
[Illustration: "FOR 'ARF A PINT I'D KNOCK YOUR BLOOMIN' 'ED IN!"]
Leander was not naturally courageous, and what he had gone through
lately had shaken his nerves. He thought that, for policemen, they
showed too strong a personal feeling; but who else could they be? He
could not remember having seen either of them before. One was a tall,
burly, heavy-jawed man; the other smaller and slighter, and apparently
the superior of the two in education and position.
"You don't remember me, I see," said the latter; and then suddenly
changing his tone to a foreign accent, he said: "Haf you been since to
drink a glass of beer at your open-air gardens at Rosherwich?"
Leander knew him then. It was his foreign customer of Monday evening.
His face was clean-shaven now, and his expression changed--not for the
better.
"I think," he said, faintly, "I had the privilege of cutting your 'air
the other evening."
"You did, my friend, and I admired your taste for the fine arts. This
gentleman and I have, on talking it over, been so struck by what I saw
that evening, that we ventured to call and inquire into it."
"Look 'ere, Count," said his companion, "there ain't time for all that
perliteness. You leave him to me; _I'll_ talk to him! Now then, you
white-livered little airy-sneak, do you know who we are?"
"No," said Leander; "and, excuse me calling of your attention to it, but
you're pinching my arm!"
"I'll pinch it off before I've done," said the burly man. "Well, we're
the men that have planned and strived, and run all the risk, that you
and your gang might cut in and carry off our honest earnings. You
infernal little hair-cutting shrimp, you! To think of being beaten by
the likes of you! It's sickening, that's what it is, sickening!"
"I don't understand you--as I live, gentlemen, I don't understand you!"
pleaded Leander.
"You understand us well enough," said the ex-foreigner, with an awful
imprecation on all Leander's salient features; "but you shall have it
all in black and white. We're the party that invented and carried out
that little job at Wricklesmarsh Court."
"Burglars! Do you mean you're burglars?" cried the terrified Leander.
"We started as burglars, but we've finished by being made cat's-paws
of--by you, curse you! You didn't think we should find you out, did you?
But if you wanted to keep us in the dark, you made two awkward little
slips: one was leaving your name and address at the gardens as the party
who was supposed to have last seen the statue, and the other was keeping
the said statue standing about in your hair-cutting room, to meet the
eye of any gentleman calling out of curiosity, and never expecting such
a find as that."
"What's the good of jawing at him, Count? That won't satisfy me, it
won't. 'Ere, I can't 'old myself off him any longer. I _must_ put a 'ed
on him."
But the other interposed. "Patience, my good Braddle. No violence. Leave
him to me; he's a devilish deep fellow, and deserves all respect." (Here
he shook Leander like a rat.) "You've stolen a march on us, you
condemned little hairdressing ape, you! How did you do it? Out with it!
How the devil did you do it?"
"For the love of heaven, gents," pleaded Leander, without reflecting
that he might have found a stronger inducement, "don't use violence! How
did I do _what_?"
"Count, I _can't_ answer for myself," said the man addressed as Braddle.
"I shall send a bullet into him if you don't let me work it off with
fists; I know I shall!"
"Keep quiet," said his superior, sternly. "Don't you see _I'm_ quiet?"
and he twisted his knuckles viciously into Leander's throat. "If you
call out you're a corpse!"
"I wasn't thinking of calling out, indeed I wasn't. I'm quite satisfied
with being where I am," said Leander, "if you'd only leave me a little
more room to choke in, and tell me what I've done to put you both in
such tremenjous tempers."
"Done? You cur, when yer know well enough you've taken the bread out of
our mouths--the bread we'd earned! D'ye suppose we left out that statue
in the gardens for the like of you? Who put you up to it? How many were
there in it? What do you mean to do now you've got it? Speak out, or I
swear I'll cut your heart out, and throw it over the railings for the
tom-cats; I will, you ----!"
The man called Braddle, as he uttered this threat, looked so very
anxious to execute it, that Leander gave himself up for lost.
"As true as I stand here, gentlemen, I didn't steal that statue."
"I doubt you're not the build for taking the lead in that sort of
thing," said the Count; "but you were in it. You went down that Saturday
as a blind. Deny it if you dare."
Leander did not dare. "I could not help myself, gentlemen," he faltered.
"Who said you could? And you can't help yourself now, either; so make a
clean breast of it. Who are you standing in with? Is it Potter's lot?"
If Leander had declared himself to be alone, things might have gone
harder with him, and they certainly would never have believed him; so he
said it _was_ Potter's lot.
"I told you Potter was after that marble, and you wouldn't have it,
Count," growled Braddle. "Now you're satisfied."
The Count comprised Potter and his lot in a new and original malediction
by way of answer, and then said to Leander, "Did Potter tell you to let
that Venus stand where all the world might see it?"
"I had no discretion," said the hairdresser. "I'm not responsible,
indeed, gents."
"No discretion! I should think you hadn't. Nor Potter either, acting the
dog in the manger like this. Where'll _he_ find his market for it, eh?
What orders have you got? When are you going to get it across?"
"I've no notions. I haven't received no directions," said Leander.
"A nice sort o' mug you are to be trusted with a job like this," said
Braddle. "I did think Potter was better up in his work, I did. A pretty
bungle he'll make of it!"
"It would serve him right, for interfering with fellow-professionals in
this infernal unprincipled manner. But he shan't have the chance,
Braddle, he shan't have the chance; we'll steal a march on him this
time."
"Is the coast clear yet?" said Braddle.
"We must risk it. We shall find a route for it, never fear," was the
reply. "Now, you cursed hairdresser, you listen to what I'm going to
tell you. That Venus is our lawful property, and, by ----, we mean to
get her into our hands again. D'ye hear that?"
Leander heard, and with delight. So long as he could once get free from
the presence of the statue, and out of the cross-fire of burglars and
police, he was willing by this time to abandon the cloak and ring.
"I can truly say, I hope you'll be successful, gents," he replied.
"We don't want your hopes, we want your help. You must round on
Potter."
"Must I, gents?" said Leander. "Well, to oblige you, whatever it costs
me, I _will_ round on Potter."
"Take care you stick to that," said Braddle. "The next pint, Count, is
'ow we're to get her."
"Come in and take her away now," said Leander, eagerly. "She'll be
quiet. I--I mean the _house_'ll be quiet now. You'll be very welcome, I
assure you. _I_ won't interfere."
"You're a bright chap to go in for a purfession like ours," said Mr.
Braddle, with intense disgust. "How do yer suppose we're to do it--take
her to pieces, eh, and bring her along in our pockets? Do you think
we're flats enough to run the chance of being seen in the streets by a
copper, lugging that 'ere statue along?"
"We must have the light cart again, and a sack," said the Count. "It's
too late to-night."
"And it ain't safe in the daytime," said Braddle. "We're wanted for that
job at Camberwell, that puts it on to-morrow evening. But suppose Potter
has fixed the same time."
"Here, _you_ know. Has Potter fixed the same time?" the Count demanded
from Leander.
"No," said Leander; "Potter ain't said nothing to me about moving her."
"Then are you man enough to undertake Potter, if he starts the idea?
_Are_ you? Come!"
"Yes, gents, I'll manage Potter. You break in any time after midnight,
and I engage you shall find the Venus on the premises."
"But we want more than that of you, you know. We mustn't lose any time
over this job. You must be ready at the door to let us in, and bear a
hand with her down to the cart."
But this did not suit Leander's views at all. He was determined to
avoid all personal risks; and to be caught helping the burglars to carry
off the Aphrodite would be fatal.
He was recovering his presence of mind. As his tormentors had sensibly
relaxed, he was able to take steps for his own security.
"I beg pardon, gents," he said, "but I don't want to appear in this
myself. There's Potter, you see; he's a hawful man to go against. You
know what Potter is, yourselves." (Potter was really coming in quite
usefully, he began to think.)
"Well, I don't suppose Potter would make more bones about slitting your
throat than we should, if he knew you'd played him false," said the
Count. "But we can't help that; in a place like this it's too risky to
break in, when we can be let in."
"If you'll only excuse me taking an active part," said Leander, "it's
all I ask. This is my plan, gentlemen. You see that little archway
there, where my finger points? Well, that leads by a small alley to a
yard, back of my saloon. You can leave your cart here, and come round as
safe as you please. I'll have the winder in my saloon unfastened, and
put the statue where you can get her easy; but I don't want to be mixed
up in it further than that."
"That seems fair enough," said the Count, "provided you keep to it."
"But suppose it's a plant?" growled Braddle. "Suppose he's planning to
lay a trap for us? Suppose we get in, to find Potter and his lot on the
look-out for us, or break into a house that's full of bloomin' coppers?"
"I did think of that; but I believe our friend knows that if he doesn't
act square with me, his life isn't worth a bent pin; and besides, he
can't warn the police without getting himself into more or less hot
water. So I think he'll see the wisdom of doing what he's told."
"I do," said Leander, "I do, gentlemen. I'd sooner die than deceive
you."
"Well," said the Count, "you'd find it come to the same thing."
"No," added Braddle. "If you blow the gaff on us, my bloomin', I'll saw
that pudden head of yours right off your shoulders, and swing for it,
cheerful!"
Leander shuddered. Amongst what desperate ruffians had his unlucky stars
led him! How would it all end, he wondered feebly--how?
"Well, gentlemen," he said, with his teeth chattering, "if you don't
want me any more, I'll go in; and I'm to expect you to-morrow evening, I
believe?"
"Expect us when you 'ear us," said Braddle; "and if you make fools of us
again----" And he described consequences which exceeded in
unpleasantness the worst that Leander could have imagined.
The poor man tottered back to his room again, in a most unenviable frame
of mind; not even the prospect of being delivered from the goddess could
reconcile him to the price he must pay for it. He was going to take a
plunge into downright crime now; and if his friend the inspector came to
hear of it, ruin must follow. And, in any case, the cloak and the ring
would be gone beyond recovery, while these cut-throat housebreakers
would henceforth have a hold over him; they might insist upon steeping
him in blacker crime still, and he knew he would never have the courage
to resist.
As he thought of the new difficulties and dangers that compassed him
round about, he was frequently on the verge of tears, and his couch
that night was visited by dreadful dreams, in which he sought audience
of the Evil One himself at cross-roads, was chased over half London by
police, and dragged over the other half by burglars, to be finally
flattened by the fall of Aphrodite.
AT LAST
IX.
"Does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it?"
_Winter's Tale._
"Yet did he loath to see the image fair,
White and unchanged of face, unmoved of limb!"
_Earthly Paradise._
Leander's hand was very tremulous all the next day, as several indignant
clients discovered, and he closed as early as he could, feeling it
impossible to attend to business under the circumstances.
About seven o'clock he went up to his sitting-room. A difficult and
ungrateful task was before him. To facilitate her removal, he must
persuade the goddess to take up a position in the saloon for the night;
and, much as he had suffered from her, there was something traitorous in
delivering her over to these coarse burglars.
He waited until the statue showed signs of returning animation, and then
said, "Good evening, mum," more obsequiously than usual.
She never deigned to notice or return his salutations. "Hairdresser,"
she said abruptly, "I am weary of this sordid place."
He was pleased, for it furthered his views. "It isn't so sordid in the
saloon, where you stood the other evening, you know," he replied. "Will
you step down there?"
"Bah!" she said, "it is _all_ sordid. Leander, a restlessness has come
upon me. I come back night after night out of the vagueness in which I
have lain so long, and for what? To stand here in this mean chamber and
proffer my favour, only to find it repulsed, disdained. I am tired of
it--tired!"
"You can't be more tired of it than I am!" he said.
"I ask myself," she went on, "why, having, through your means, ascended
once more to the earth, which I left so fair, I seek not those things
which once delighted me. This city of yours--all that I have seen of
it--revolts me; but it is vast, vaster than those built by the mortals
of old. Surely somewhere there must be brightness in it and beauty, and
the colour and harmony by which men knew once to delight the gods
themselves. It cannot be that the gods of old are all forgotten; surely,
somewhere there yet lingers a little band of faithful ones, who have not
turned from Aphrodite."
"I can't say, I'm sure," said Leander; "I could inquire for you."
"I myself will seek for them," she said proudly. "I will go forth this
very night."
Leander choked. "To-night!" he cried. "You _can't_ go to-night."
"You forget yourself," she returned haughtily.
"If I let you go," he said hesitatingly, "will you promise faithfully to
be back in half an hour?"
"Do you not yet understand that you have to do with a goddess--with
Aphrodite herself?" she said. "Who are you, to presume to fetter me by
your restrictions? Truly, the indulgence I have shown has turned your
weak brain."
He put his back against the door. He was afraid of the goddess, but he
was still more afraid of the burglars' vengeance if they arrived to find
the prize missing.
"I'm sorry to disoblige a lady," he said; "but you don't go out of this
house to-night."
In another minute he was lying in the fender amongst the
fireirons--alone! How it was done he was too stunned to remember; but
the goddess was gone. If she did not return by midnight, what would
become of him? If he had only been civil to her, she might have stayed;
but now she had abandoned him to certain destruction!
A kind of fatalistic stupor seized him. He would not run away--he would
have to come home some time--nor would he call in the police, for he had
a very vivid recollection of Mr. Braddle's threat in such a contingency.
He went, instead, into the dark saloon, and sat down in a chair to wait.
He wondered how he could explain the statue's absence. If he told the
burglars it had gone for a stroll, they would tear him limb from limb.
"I was so confoundedly artful about Potter," he thought bitterly, "that
they'll never believe now I haven't warned him!"
At every sound outside he shook like a leaf; the quarters, as they
sounded from the church clock, sank like cold weights upon his heart.
"If only Venus would come back first!" he moaned; but the statue never
returned.
At last he heard steps--muffled ones--on the paved alley outside. He had
forgotten to leave the window unfastened, after all, and he was too
paralysed to do it now.
The steps were in the little yard, or rather a sort of back area,
underneath the window. "It may be only a constable," he tried to say to
himself; but there is no mistaking the constabulary tread, which is not
fairy-like, or even gentle, like that he heard.
A low whistle destroyed his last hope. In a quite unpremeditated manner
he put out the gas and rolled under a leather divan which stood at the
end of the room. He wished now, with all his heart, that he had run away
while he had the chance; but it was too late.
"I hope they'll do it with a revolver, and not a knife," he thought.
"Oh, my poor Matilda! you little know what I'm going through just now,
and what'll be going through _me_ in another minute!"
A hoarse voice under the window called out, "Tweddle!"
He lay still. "None o' that, yer skulker; I know yer there!" said the
voice again. "Do yer want to give me the job o' coming after yer?"
After all, Leander reflected, there was the window and a thick
half-shutter between them. It might be best not to provoke Mr. Braddle
at the outset. He came half out of his hiding-place. "Is that you, Mr.
Braddle?" he quavered.
"Ah!" said the voice, affirmatively. "Is this what you call being ready
for us? Why, the bloomin' winder ain't even undone!"
"That's what I'm here for," said poor Leander. "Is the--the other
gentleman out there too?"
"You mind your business! You'll find something the Count give me to
bring yer; I've put it on the winder-sill out 'ere. And you obey horders
next time, will yer?"
The footsteps were heard retreating. Mr. Braddle was apparently going
back to fetch his captain. Leander let down the shutter, and opened the
window. He could not see, but he could feel a thick, rough bundle lying
on the window-sill.
He drew this in, slammed down the window, and ran up the shutter in a
second, before the two could have had time to discover him.
"Now," he thought, "I _will_ run for it;" and he groped his way out of
the dark saloon to the front shop, where he paused, and, taking a match
from his pocket, struck a light. His parcel proved to be rough
sackcloth, on the outside of which a paper was pinned.
Why did the Count write, when he was coming in directly? Curiosity made
him linger even then to ascertain this. The paper contained a hasty
scrawl in blue chalk. "_Not to-night_," he read; "_arrangements still
uncomplete. Expect us to-morrow night without fail, and see that
everything is prepared. Cloth sent with this for packing goods. P----
laid up with professional accident, and safe for a week or two. You must
have known this--why not say so last night? No trifling, if you value
life!_" It was a reprieve--at the last moment! He had a whole day before him for flight, and he fully intended to flee this time; those hours of suspense in the saloon were too terrible to be gone through twice. |
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