tales of two people 54

tales of two people 54

THE LADY AND THE FLAGON

 

 

The Duke of Belleville--which name, by the way, you must pronounce by no

means according to its spelling, if you would be in the fashion; for as

Belvoir is Beevor, and Beauchamp is Beecham, even so on polite lips

Belleville is Bevvle--the Duke of Belleville shut the hall door behind

him, and put his latchkey into the pocket of his trousers. It was but

ten in the evening, yet the house was as still as though it had been two

in the morning. All was dark, save for a dim jet of gas in the little

sitting-room; the blinds were all down; from without the villa seemed

uninhabited, and the rare passer-by--for rare was he in the quiet lane

adjoining but not facing Hampstead Heath--set it down as being to let.

It was a whim of the Duke’s to keep it empty; when the world bored him,

he fled there for solitude; not even the presence of a servant was

allowed, lest his meditations should be disturbed. It was long since he

had come; but to-night weariness had afflicted him, and, by a sudden

change of plan, he had made for his hiding-place in lieu of attending a

Public Meeting, at which he had been advertised to take the chair. The

desertion sat lightly on his conscience, and he heaved a sigh of relief,

as, having turned up the gas, he flung himself into an arm-chair and lit

a cigar. The Duke of Belleville was thirty years of age; he was

unmarried; he had held the title since he was fifteen; he seemed to

himself rather old. He was at this moment yawning. Now when a man yawns

at ten o’clock in the evening something is wrong with his digestion or

his spirits. The Duke had a perfect digestion.

 

“I should define wealth,” murmured the Duke, between his yawns, “as an

unlimited command of the sources of _ennui_, rank as a satirical

emphasising of human equality, culture as a curtailment of pleasures,

knowledge as the death of interest.” Yawning again, he rose, drew up the

blind, and flung open the window. The summer night was fine and warm.

Although there were a couple of dozen other houses scattered here and

there about the lane, not a soul was to be seen. The Duke stood for a

long while looking out. His cigar burnt low and he flung it away.

Presently he heard a church clock strike eleven. At the same moment he

perceived a tall and burly figure approaching from the end of the lane.

Its approach was slow and interrupted, for it paused at every house. A

moment’s further inspection revealed in it a policeman on his beat.

 

“He’s trying the windows and doors,” remarked the Duke to himself. Then

his eyes brightened. “There are possibilities in a door always,” he

murmured, and his thoughts flew off to the great doors of history and

fiction--the doors that were locked when by all laws human and divine

they should have been open, and the even more interesting doors that

proved to be open and yielded to pressure when any man would have staked

his life on their being bolted, barred, and impregnable. “A door has the

interest of death,” said he. “For how can you know what is on the other

side till you have passed through it? Now suppose that fellow found a

door open, and passed through it, and, turning the rays of his lantern

on the darkness within, saw revealed to him--Heavens!” cried the Duke,

interrupting himself in great excitement, “is all this to be wasted on a

policeman?” And without a moment’s hesitation, he leant out of the

window and shouted, “Constable, constable!”--which is, as all the world

knows, the politest mode of addressing a policeman.

 

The policeman, perceiving the Duke and the urgency of the Duke’s

summons, left his examination of the doors in the lane and ran hastily

up to the window of the villa.

 

“Did you call, sir?” he asked.

 

“Don’t you know me?” inquired the Duke, turning a little, so that the

light within the room should fall on his features.

 

“I beg your Grace’s pardon,” cried the policeman. “Your Grace gave me a

sovereign last Christmas. The Duke of Belle-ville, isn’t it, your

Grace?”

 

“You will know,” said the Duke patiently, “how to pronounce my name when

I tell you that it rhymes with ‘Devil.’ Thus: ‘Devvle, Bevvle.’”

 

“Yes, your Grace. You called me?”

 

“I did. Do you often find doors open when they ought to be shut?”

 

“Almost every night, your Grace.”

 

“What do you do?”

 

“Knock, your Grace.”

 

“Good heavens,” murmured the Duke, “how this man throws away his

opportunities!” Then he leant forward, and laying his hand on the

policeman’s shoulder drew him nearer, and began to speak to him in a low

tone.

 

“I couldn’t, your Grace,” urged the policeman. “If I was found out I

should get the sack.”

 

“You should come to no harm by that.”

 

“And if your Grace was found out----”

 

“You can leave that to me,” interrupted the Duke.

 

Presently the policeman, acting on the Duke’s invitation, climbed into

the window of the villa, and the conversation was continued across the

table. The Duke urged, produced money, gave his word to be responsible

for the policeman’s future; the policeman’s resistance grew less strong.

 

“I am about your height and build,” said the Duke. “It is but for a few

hours, and you can spend them very comfortably in the kitchen. Before

six o’clock I will be back.”

 

“If the Inspector comes round, your Grace?”

 

“You must take a little risk for twenty pounds,” the Duke reminded him.

 

The struggle could end but one way. A quarter of an hour later the

policeman, attired in the Duke’s overcoat, sat by the kitchen hearth,

while the Duke, equipped in the policeman’s garments, prepared to leave

the house and take his place on the beat.

 

“I shall put out all lights and shut the door,” said he. “The window of

this kitchen looks out to the back, and you will not be seen. You will

particularly oblige me by remaining here and taking no notice of

anything that may occur till I return and call you.”

 

“But, your Grace, if there’s murder done----”

 

“We can hardly expect that,” interrupted the Duke, a little wistfully.

Yet, although, remembering how the humdrum permeates life, he would not

pitch his anticipations too high, the Duke started on the expedition

with great zest and lively hopes. The position he had assumed, the mere

office that he discharged vicariously, seemed to his fancy a conductor

that must catch and absorb the lightning of adventurous incident. His

big-buttoned coat, his helmet, the lantern he carried, his deftly hidden

truncheon, combined to make him the centre of anything that might move,

and to involve him in coils of crime or of romance. He refused to be

disappointed although he tried a dozen doors and found all securely

fastened. For never till the last, till fortune was desperate and escape

a vanished dream, was wont to come that marvellous Door that gaped

open-mouthed. Ah! The Duke started violently, the blood rushing to his

face and his heart beating quick. Here, at the end of the lane most

remote from his own villa, at a small two-storeyed house bright with

green paint and flowering creepers, here, in the most unlikely, most

inevitable place, was the open door. Barred? It was not even shut, but

hung loose, swaying gently to and fro, with a subdued bang at each

encounter with the doorpost. Without a moment’s hesitation the Duke

pushed it open. He stood in a dark passage. He turned the glare of his

bull’s-eye on the gloom, which melted as the column of light pierced it,

and he saw--

 

“There is nothing at all,” said the Duke of Belleville with a sigh.

 

Nor, indeed, was there, save an umbrella-rack, a hatstand, and an

engraving of the Queen’s Coronation--things which had no importance for

the Duke.

 

“They are only what one might expect,” said he.

 

Yet he persevered and began to mount the stairs with a silent cautious

tread. He had not felt it necessary to put on the policeman’s boots, and

his thin-soled well-made boots neither creaked nor crunched as he

climbed, resting one hand on the balustrade and holding his lantern in

the other. Yet suddenly something touched his hand, and a bell rang out,

loud, clear and tinkling. A moment later came a scream; the Duke paused

in some bewilderment. Then he mounted a few more steps till he was on

the landing. A door to his right was cautiously opened; an old

gentleman’s head appeared.

 

“Thank heaven, it’s the police!” cried the old gentleman. Then he pulled

his head in and said, “Only the police, my dear.” Then he put his head

out again and asked, “What in the world is the matter? I thought you

were burglars when I heard the alarm.”

 

“Your hall door was standing open,” said the Duke accusingly.

 

“Tut, tut, tut! How very careless of me, to be sure! And I thought I

locked it! Actually open! Dear me! I’m much obliged to you.”

 

A look of disappointment had by now spread over the Duke’s face.

 

“Didn’t you leave it open on purpose?” he asked. “Come now! You can

trust me.”

 

“On purpose? Do you take me for a fool?” cried the old gentleman.

 

“A man who leaves his door open on purpose may or may not be a fool,”

said the Duke. “But there is no doubt about a man who leaves it open

without a purpose,” and, so saying, the Duke turned, walked downstairs,

and, going out, slammed the door behind him. He was deeply disgusted.

 

When, however, he had recovered a little from his chagrin, he began to

pace up and down the lane. It was now past midnight, and all was very

quiet. The Duke began to fear that Fortune, never weary of tormenting

him, meant to deny all its interest to his experiment. But suddenly,

when he was exactly opposite his own house, he observed a young man

standing in front of it. The stranger was tall and well made; he wore a

black cloth Inverness, which, hanging open at the throat, showed a white

tie and a snowy shirt front. The young man seemed to be gazing

thoughtfully at the Duke’s villa. The Duke walked quietly up to him, as

though he meant to pass by. The young man, however, perceiving him,

turned to him and said: