CHAPTER X
THE DOWNFALL OF MR. JABEZ STIFFSON
I
The next morning Bindle let Mrs. Sedge in at her usual time, seveno'clock.
"Now mind, mother," he said, "four eggs and plenty o' bacon an'coffee, Number Six 'as got a appetite; 'ad no supper, pore gal."
Mrs. Sedge grunted. Kilburn Cemetery had a depressing effect upon her.
"I'll take it up myself," remarked Bindle casually.
Mrs. Sedge eyed him deliberately.
"She's pretty, then," she said. "Ain't you men jest all alike!" Sheproceeded to shake her head in hopeless despair.
Bindle stood watching her as she descended to the Harts' kitchen.
"She's got an 'ead-piece on 'er, 'as ole Sedgy," he muttered. "Fancy'er a-tumblin' to it like that, an' 'er still 'alf full o' RoyalRichard."
Having prepared and eaten his own breakfast, Bindle sat down andwaited. At five minutes past nine he rose.
"It's time Oscar an' Ole Whiskers was up an' doin'," he murmured as hestood in front of the dingy looking-glass over the fireplace. "JoeBindle, there's a-goin' to be rare doin's in Number Six to-day, and itmay mean that you'll lose your job, you ole reprobate."
At the head of the stairs of the second floor Bindle stopped as if hehad been shot.
"'Old me, 'Orace!" he muttered. "If it ain't 'er!"
Running towards him was Miss Boye in a white silk wrapper, a whitelace matinee cap, her stockingless feet thrust into dainty slippers.
Bindle eyed her appreciatively.
"Oh, Mr. Porter!" she cried breathlessly, "there's a man in my bath."
"A wot, miss?" enquired Bindle in astonishment.
"A man, I heard him splashing and I peeped in,--I only just peeped,you know, Mr. Porter,--and there was a funny little man in spectacleswith whiskers. Isn't it lovely!" she cried, clapping her handsgleefully. "Where could he have come from?"
"Well, personally myself, I shouldn't call 'im lovely," mutteredBindle. "I s'pose it's only a matter o' taste."
"But where did he come from?" persisted Cissie Boye excitedly.
"'E must 'ave been left be'ind by the other tenant," said Bindle,grinning widely. "I must see into this. Now you'd better get back,miss. You mustn't go 'opping about like this, or I'll lose my job."
"Why! Don't I look nice?" asked Miss Boye archly, looking down atherself.
"That's jest it, miss," said Bindle. "If Number Seven or NumberEighteen was to see you like that, well, anythink might 'appen. Nowwe'll find out about this man wot you think 'as got into your bath."
Followed by Miss Boye, Bindle entered the outer door of Number Six. Ashe did so Mr. Stiffson emerged from the bathroom in a faded pinkbath-robe and yellow felt slippers, with a towel over his shoulder anda sponge in his hand. He gave one startled glance past Bindle atCissie Boye and, with a strange noise in his throat, turned and fledback to the bathroom, bolting the door behind him.
"Isn't he a scream!" gurgled Miss Boye. "Oh, what would Bobbie say?"
Like a decree of fate Bindle marched up to the bathroom door andknocked imperiously.
"What is it?" inquired Mr. Stiffson in a trembling voice.
"It's me," responded Bindle sternly. "Open the door, sir, _if_ youplease. I can't 'ave you a-frightening this young lady."
"Tell her to go away, and then I'll come out," was the response.
Miss Boye giggled.
"You'd better come out, sir." There was decision in Bindle's voice.
"I'll go into my room," she whispered, "and then I'll come out again,see?"
Bindle did see, and nodded his head vigorously. Miss Boye disappeared.
"She ain't 'ere now, sir," he said, "so you'd better come out."
The bathroom door was cautiously opened, and Mr. Stiffson looked outwith terror-dilated eyes.
"Is she really----?"
"Of course she is," said Bindle reassuringly. "Fancy you bein' afraidof a pretty little bit o' fluff like that."
"But--but--she was in her----"
"Of course she was, she was goin' to 'ave a rinse in there," Bindleindicated the bathroom with his thumb, "when you frightened 'er. Dirtytrick a-frightening of a pretty gal like that."
With affected indifference Bindle strolled over to the bathroom,looked in and then stood before the door.
"Look! there she is again!" almost shrieked Mr. Stiffson, dashing forBindle and endeavouring to get past him into the bathroom.
"There, there, sir," said Bindle soothingly, "you're a very luckycove, only you don't seem to know it."
"But--but--Mrs. Stiffson----"
There was terror in Mr. Stiffson's voice. On his forehead beads ofperspiration glistened.
"What the wife don't see the 'usband don't 'ave to explain," remarkedBindle oracularly.
"But she's in my flat," persisted Mr. Stiffson.
"Oh! you naughty old thing!" cried Cissie Boye. "It's you who are inmy flat."
"But I came in last night," quavered Mr. Stiffson.
"So did I--didn't I, Mr. Porter?" She turned to Bindle forcorroboration.
"Take my dyin' oath on it, miss," said Bindle.
"But----" began Mr. Stiffson, then stopped, at loss how to proceed.
"Look 'ere," said Bindle pleasantly, "there's been a little mistake,sort of a misunderstandin', an' things 'ave got a bit mixed. You cansay it's me wot's done it if you like. Now you'd better both getdressed an' come an' 'ave breakfast." Then turning to Mr. Stiffson hesaid, "Don't you think o' meetin' your missis on an empty stomach. I'mmarried myself, an' Mrs. B.'s as 'ot as ginger when there's anotherbit o' skirt about."
Cissie Boye slowly approached Mr. Stiffson. "You're surely not afraidof little me, Mr. Man?" she enquired, looking deliciously impudent.
That was exactly what Mr. Stiffson was afraid of, and he edged nearerto Bindle.
"But Mrs. Stiffson----" he stammered, regarding Cissie Boye like onehypnotised.
"Oh! you naughty old thing!" admonished Miss Boye, enjoying Mr.Stiffson's embarrassment. "You come into my flat, then talk about yourwife," and she laughed happily.
"Now look 'ere, sir," said Bindle, "there's been a little mistake, an'this young lady is willin' to forgive an' forget, an' you ain'ta-goin' to 'old out, are you? Now you jest run in an' get rid o' thempetticoats, come out lookin' like a man, an' then wot-o! for a nicelittle breakfast which'll all be over before your missis turns up atten o'clock, see! You can trust me, married myself I am," he added asif to explain his breadth of view in such matters.
"But I can't----" began Mr. Stiffson.
"Oh, yes you can, sir, an' wot's more you'll like it." Bindle gentlypropelled the protesting Mr. Stiffson past Cissie Boye towards hisroom.
"Don't forget now, in a quarter of an hour, I'll be up with the coffeean' bacon an' eggs. You're a rare lucky cove, sir, only you don't knowit."
"I'm so hungry," wailed Cissie Boye.
"Of course you are, miss," said Bindle sympathetically. "I'll get amove on."
"Oh! isn't he delicious," gurgled Cissie Boye. "Isn't he a perfectscream; but how did he get here, Mr. Porter?"
"Well, miss, the only wonder to me is that 'alf Fulham ain't 'ere tosee you a-lookin' like that. Now you jest get a rinse in your rooman'----"
"A rinse, what's that?" enquired Cissie.
"You does it with soap an' water, miss, an' you might add a bit or twoof lace, jest in case the neighbours was to come in. Now I must beorf. Old Sedgy ain't at 'er best after them 'alf days with RoyalRichard. Don't let 'im nip orf, miss, will you?" Bindle addedanxiously. "'E's that modest an' retirin' like, that e' might try."
At that moment Mr. Stiffson put his head out of his door. "Porter!" hestammered, "Oscar has not had his breakfast; it's on the kitchenmantelpiece." He shut the door hurriedly.
"Oscar's got to wait," muttered Bindle as he hurried downstairs.
Ten minutes later he had the gas-stove lighted in the sitting-room,and coffee, eggs and bacon, bread and butter, strawberry jam andmarmalade ready on the
table.
Miss Boye emerged from her room, a vision of loveliness in a pale-blueteagown, open at the throat, with a flurry of white lace cascadingdown the front. There was a good deal of Cissie Boye visible in spiteof the lace. She still wore her matinee cap with the blue ribbons, andBindle frankly envied Mr. Stiffson.
"Now, sir," he cried, banging at the laggard's door, "the coffee andthe lady's waitin', an' I want to feed Oscar."
Mr. Stiffson came out timidly. He evidently realised the importance ofthe occasion. He wore a white satin tie reposing beneath a low collarof nonconformity, a black frock-coat with a waistcoat that had beenbought at a moment of indecision as to whether it should be a morningor evening affair, light trousers, and spats.
"My, ain't we dressy!" cried Bindle, looking appreciatively at Mr.Stiffson's trousers. "You got 'er beaten with them bags, sir, or myname ain't Joe Bindle."
Mr. Stiffson coughed nervously behind his hand.
"Now," continued Bindle, "you got a good hour, then we must see wot'sto be done. I'll keep the Ole Bird away."
"The Old Bird?" questioned Mr. Stiffson in a thin voice as he openedthe door; "but Oscar is only----"
"I mean your missis, sir," explained Bindle. "You leave 'er to me."
"Come on, Mr. Man," cried Cissie Boye, "don't be afraid, I never eatmen when there's eggs and bacon."
Mr. Stiffson motioned Bindle to accompany him into the sitting-room.
"I got to see to Oscar," said Bindle reassuringly.
"Now sit down," ordered Cissie Boye. Mr. Stiffson seated himself onthe edge of the chair opposite to her. She busied herself with thecoffee, bacon and eggs. Mr. Stiffson watched her with the air of a manwho is prepared to bolt at any moment. He cast anxious eyes towardsthe clock. It pointed to a quarter to nine. Bindle had taken theprecaution of putting it back an hour.
Suddenly Oscar burst into full song. Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief.Oscar had had his breakfast.
"Now, Mr. Man, eat," commanded Cissie Boye, "and," handing him a cupof coffee, "drink."
"An' be merry, sir," added Bindle, who entered at the moment. "You're'avin' the time of your life, an' don't you forget it."
Mr. Stiffson looked as if the passage of centuries would never permithim to forget.
"An' now I'll leave you little love-birds," said Bindle with thecheerful assurance of a cupid, "an' go an' keep watch."
"But----" protested Mr. Stiffson, half rising from his chair.
"Oh! do sit down, old thing!" cried Cissie; "you're spoiling mybreakfast."
Mr. Stiffson subsided. Destiny had clearly taken a hand in the affair.
"Now you jest enjoy your little selves," apostrophized Bindle, "an'then we'll try an' find out 'ow all this 'ere 'appened. It does me,blowed if it don't."
II
"I'm not aware that I speak indistinctly." The voice wasuncompromising, the deportment aggressive. "I said 'Mr. JabezStiffson.'"
"You did, mum," agreed Bindle tactfully; "I 'eard you myself quiteplainly."
"Then where is he? I'm Mrs. Stiffson."
Mrs. Stiffson was a tall woman of generous proportions. Her hair wasgrey, her features virtuously hard, her manner overwhelming. Hermovements gave no suggestion of limbs, she seemed to wheel along witha slight swaying of the body from side to side.
"Well?" she interrogated.
"'E's sort of engaged, mum," temporised Bindle, "'avin' breakfast.I'll tell 'im you're 'ere. I'll break it gently to 'im. You know, mum,joy sometimes kills, an' 'e don't look strong."
Without a word Mrs. Stiffson wheeled round and, ignoring the lift,marched for the stairs. As he followed, Bindle remembered withsatisfaction that he had omitted to close the outer door of NumberSix.
Straight up the stairs, like "never-ending Time," marched Mrs.Stiffson. She did not hurry, she did not pause, she climbed evenly,mechanically, a model wife seeking her mate.
Any doubts that Bindle may have had as to Mrs. Stiffson's ability tofind the husband she sought were set at rest by the shrill pipings ofOscar. Even a trained detective could not have overlooked so obvious aclue.
Along the corridor, straight for Number Six moved Mrs. Stiffson,Bindle in close attendance, fearful lest he should lose the dramaticintensity of the arrival of "the wronged wife."
Unconscious that Nemesis was marching upon him, Mr. Stiffson,stimulated by the coffee, bacon and eggs, and the gay insouciance ofCissie Boye, was finding the situation losing much of its terror forhim.
No man for long could remain indifferent to the charming personalityof Cissie Boye. Her bright chatter and good looks, her innocence,strangely blended with worldly wisdom, her daring garb; all combinedto divert Mr. Stiffson's mind from the thoughts of his wife, apartfrom which the clock pointed to five minutes past nine, and Mrs.Stiffson was as punctual as fate.
Had he possessed the intuition of a mongoose, Mr. Stiffson would haveknown that there was a snake in his grass.
Instinct guiding her steps, Mrs. Stiffson entered the flat. Instead ofturning to the right, in the direction of the bedroom in which Oscarwas overdoing the thanksgiving business for bird-seed and water, shewheeled to the left and threw open the sitting-room door.
From under Mrs. Stiffson's right arm Bindle saw the tableau. Mr.Stiffson, who was facing the door, was in the act of raising hiscoffee-cup to smiling lips. Cissie Boye, sitting at right angles onhis left, was leaning back in her chair clapping her hands.
"Oh, you naughty old thing!" she was crying.
At the sight of his wife, Mr. Stiffson's jaw dropped and thecoffee-cup slipped from his nerveless hands. It struck the edge of thetable and emptied its contents down the opening of his low-cutwaistcoat.
At the sight of the abject terror on Mr. Stiffson's face, Cissie Boyeceased to clap her hands and, turning her head, met Mrs. Stiffson'suncompromising stare and Bindle's appreciative grin.
"Jabez!" It was like the uninflected accents of doom.
Mr. Stiffson shivered; that was the only indication he gave of havingheard. With unblinking eyes he continued to gaze at his wife as iffascinated, the empty coffee-cup resting on his knees.
"Jabez!" repeated Mrs. Stiffson. "I thought I told you to wear yourtweed mixture to-day."
Mrs. Stiffson had a fine sense of the dramatic! The unexpectedness ofthe remark caused Mr. Stiffson to blink his eyes like a puzzled owl,without however removing them from his wife, or changing theirexpression.
Cissie Boye laughed, Bindle grinned.
"Won't you sit down?" It was Cissie Boye who spoke.
"Silence, hussy!" There was no anger in Mrs. Stiffson's voice; it wasjust a command and an expression of opinion.
Cissie Boye rose, the light of battle in her eyes. Bindle pushed pastMrs. Stiffson and stood between the two women.
"Look 'ere, mum," he said, "we likes manners in this 'ere flat, an'we're a-goin' to 'ave 'em, see! Sorry if I 'urt your feelin's. Thisain't a woman's club."
"Hold your tongue, fool!" the deep voice thundered.
"Oh, no, you don't!" said Bindle cheerfully, looking up at hismountainous antagonist. "You can't frighten me, I ain't married toyou. Now you jest be civil."
"Listen!" cried Cissie Boye with flashing eyes. "Don't you go givingme the bird like that, or----" She paused at a loss with what tothreaten her guest.
"It's all right, miss," said Bindle, "You jest leave 'er to me; I gotone o' my own at 'ome. She's going to speak to me, she is."
Mrs. Stiffson's efforts of self-control were proving unequal to theoccasion, her breathing became laboured and her voice husky.
"What is my husband doing in this person's flat?" demanded Mrs.Stiffson, apparently of no one in particular. There was something likeemotion in her voice.
"Well, mum," responded Bindle, "'e was eatin' bacon an' eggs an'drinking coffee."
"How dare you appear before my husband like that!" Mrs. Stiffsonturned fiercely upon Cissie Boye. "You brazen creature!" anger was nowtaking possession of her.
"Here, easy on, old thing!" said Cissie Bo
ye, seeing Mrs. Stiffson'srising temper, and entirely regaining her own good humour.
"I repeat," said Mrs. Stiffson, "what is my husband doing in yourcompany?"
"Ask him what he's doing in my flat," countered Cissie Boyetriumphantly.
"Look 'ere, mum," broke in Bindle in a soothing voice, "it's no usea-playin' 'Amlet in a rage. You jest sit down and talk it overfriendly like, an' p'raps I can get a drop of Royal Richard from oldSedgy. It's sort of been a shock to you, mum, I can see. Well, thingsdo look bad; anyhow, Royal Richard'll bring you round in two ticks."
Mrs. Stiffson turned upon Bindle a look that was meant to annihilate.
Bindle glanced across at Mr. Stiffson, who was mechanically rubbingthe middle of his person with a napkin, his eyes still fixed upon hiswife.
"Because your 'usband gets into the wrong duds," continued Bindle,"ain't no reason why you should get into an 'owling temper, is it?"
There was a knock at the door and, without waiting for a reply, Mrs.Sedge entered, wearing a canvas apron and a crape bonnet on one sideand emitting an almost overpowering aroma of Royal Richard. In herhands she carried a large bowl of porridge. Marching across to thetable, she dumped it down in front of Mr. Stiffson.
"Ain't that jest like a man, forgettin' 'alf o' wot 'e ought toremember!" she remarked and, without waiting for a reply, she stumpedout of the room, banging the door behind her.
Bindle sniffed the air like a hound.
"That's Royal Richard wot you can smell, mum," he explained.
Cissie Boye laughed.
Ignoring the interruption, Mrs. Stiffson returned to the attack.
"I demand an explanation!" Her voice shook with suppressed fury.
"Listen!" cried Cissie Boye, "if your boy will come and sleep in myflat----"
"Sleep in your flat!" cried Mrs. Stiffson in something between a roarand a scream. "Sleep in your flat!" She turned upon her husband."Jabez, did you hear that? Oh! you villain, you liar, you monster!"
"But--but, my dear," protested Mr. Stiffson, becoming articulate,"Oscar was here all the time."
Cissie Boye giggled.
"So that is why you have put on your best clothes, you deceiver, youviper, you scum!"
"Steady on, mum!" broke out Bindle. "'E ain't big enough to be allthem things; besides, if you starts a-megaphonin' like that, you'll'ave all the other bunnies a-runnin' in to see wot's 'appened, an' ifyou was to 'ear Number Seven's language, an' see wot Queenie calls 'erface, Mr. S. might be a widower before 'e knew it."
"Where did you meet this person?" demanded Mrs. Stiffson of herhusband, who, now that the coffee was cooling, began to feel chilly,and was busily engaged in trying to extract the moisture from hisgarments.
"Where did you meet her?" repeated his wife.
"In--in the bath-room," responded Mr. Stiffson weakly.
Mrs. Stiffson gasped and stood speechless with amazement.
"I heard a splashing," broke in Cissie Boye, "and I peeped in,--I onlyjust peeped in, really and really."
"An' then we 'ad a little friendly chat in the 'all," explainedBindle, "an' after breakfast we was goin' to talk things over, an' see'ow we could manage so that you didn't know."
"Your bath-room!" roared Mrs. Stiffson at length, the true horror ofthe situation at last seeming to dawn upon her. "My husband in yourbath-room! Jabez!" she turned on Mr. Stiffson once more like a ragingfury. "You heard! were you in this creature's bath-room?"
Mr. Stiffson paused in the process of endeavouring to extract coffeefrom his exterior.
"Er--er----" he began.
"Answer me!" shouted Mrs. Stiffson. "Were you or were you not in thisperson's bath-room?"
"Yes--er--but----" began Mr. Stiffson.
Mrs. Stiffson cast a frenzied glance round the room. Action hadbecome necessary, violence imperative. Her roving eye lighted on thebowl full of half-cold porridge that Mrs. Sedge had just brought in.She seized it and, with a swift inverting movement, crashed it downupon her husband's head.
With the scream of a wounded animal, Mr. Stiffson half rose, then sankback again in his chair, his hands clutching convulsively at the basinfixed firmly upon his head by the suction of its contents. Frombeneath the rim the porridge gathered in large pendulous drops, andslowly lowered themselves upon various portions of Mr. Stiffson'sperson, leaving a thin filmy thread behind, as if reluctant to cut offall communication with the basin.
Bindle and Cissie Boye went to the victim's assistance, and Bindleremoved the basin. It parted from Mr. Stiffson's head with a juicy sobof reluctance. Whilst his rescuers were occupied in their samaritanefforts, Mrs. Stiffson was engaged in describing her husband'scharacter.
Beginning with a request for someone to end his poisonous existence,she proceeded to explain his place, or rather lack of place, in theuniverse. She traced the coarseness of his associates to the vilenessof his ancestors. She enquired why he had not been to the front (Mr.Stiffson was over fifty years of age), why he was not in thevolunteers. Then slightly elevating her head she demanded of Heavenwhy he was permitted to live. She traced all degradation, includingthat of the lower animals, to the example of such men as her husband.He was the breaker-up of homes, in some way or other connected withthe increased death-rate and infant mortality, the indirect cause ofthe Income Tax and directly responsible for the war; she even hintedthat he was to some extent answerable for the defection of Russia fromthe Allied cause.
Whilst she was haranguing, Bindle and Cissie Boye, with the aid ofdesert spoons, were endeavouring to remove the porridge from Mr.Stiffson's head. It had collected behind his spectacles, forming asucculent pad before each eye.
Bindle listened to Mrs. Stiffson's tirade with frank admiration;language always appealed to him.
"Ain't she a corker!" he whispered to Cissie Boye.
"Cork's out now, any old how," was the whispered reply.
Then Mrs. Stiffson did a very feminine thing. She gave vent to threeshort, sharp snaps of staccatoed laughter, and suddenly collapsed uponthe sofa in screaming hysterics.
Cissie Boye made a movement towards her. Bindle laid an arresting handupon her arm.
"You jest leave 'er be, miss," he said. "I know all about them littlegames. She'll come to all right."
"Where the hell is that damn porter?" the voice of Number Seven burstin upon them from the outer corridor.
"'Ere I am, sir," sang out Bindle.
"Then why the corruption aren't you in your room?" bawled NumberSeven.
Bindle slipped quickly out into the corridor to find Number Sevenbristling with rage.
"Because Ole Damn an' 'Op it, I can't be in two places at once," hesaid.
Whilst Bindle was engaged with Number Seven, Mrs. Stiffson had oncemore galvanised herself to action. Still screaming and laughing byturn, she wheeled out of the flat with incredible rapidity and madetowards the lift.
"Hi! stop 'er, stop 'er!" shouted Bindle, bolting after Mrs. Stiffson,followed by Number Seven.
"Police, police, murder, murder!" screamed Mrs. Stiffson. She reachedthe lift and, with an agility that would have been creditable in ayoung goat, slipped in and shut the gates with a clang. Just as Bindlearrived the lift began slowly to descend. In a fury of impatience,Mrs. Stiffson began banging at the buttons, with the result that thelift stopped halfway between the two floors.
Bindle and Number Seven shouted down instructions; but without avail.The lift had stuck fast. Mrs. Stiffson shrieked for help, shrieked forthe police, and shrieked for vengeance.
"Damned old tiger-cat!" cried Number Seven. "Leave her where she is."
Bindle turned upon him a face radiating smiles.
"Them's the best words I've 'eard from you yet, sir"; and he walkedupstairs to reassure the occupants of Number Six that fate and thelift had joined the Entente against Mrs. Stiffson.
It was four hours before Mrs. Stiffson was free; but Mr. Stiffson, hisluggage, his thermos flask and Oscar had fled. Cissie Boye was atrehearsal and Bindle had donned his uniform. It was
a chastened Mrs.Stiffson who wheeled out of the lift and enquired for her husband, andit was a stern and official Bindle who told her that Mr. Stiffson hadgone, and warned her that any further attempt at disturbing thecloistral peace of Fulham Square Mansions would end in a prosecutionfor disorderly conduct.
And Mrs. Stiffson departed in search of her husband.