II
I climbed the three dilapidated flights of stairs, which I had so oftenclimbed before, and knocked at a small door at the end of the corridor.Mr. Wilde opened the door and I walked in.
When he had double-locked the door and pushed a heavy chest against it,he came and sat down beside me, peering up into my face with his littlelight-coloured eyes. Half a dozen new scratches covered his nose andcheeks, and the silver wires which supported his artificial ears hadbecome displaced. I thought I had never seen him so hideouslyfascinating. He had no ears. The artificial ones, which now stood out atan angle from the fine wire, were his one weakness. They were made of waxand painted a shell pink, but the rest of his face was yellow. He mightbetter have revelled in the luxury of some artificial fingers for hisleft hand, which was absolutely fingerless, but it seemed to cause him noinconvenience, and he was satisfied with his wax ears. He was very small,scarcely higher than a child of ten, but his arms were magnificentlydeveloped, and his thighs as thick as any athlete's. Still, the mostremarkable thing about Mr. Wilde was that a man of his marvellousintelligence and knowledge should have such a head. It was flat andpointed, like the heads of many of those unfortunates whom peopleimprison in asylums for the weak-minded. Many called him insane, but Iknew him to be as sane as I was.
I do not deny that he was eccentric; the mania he had for keeping thatcat and teasing her until she flew at his face like a demon, wascertainly eccentric. I never could understand why he kept the creature,nor what pleasure he found in shutting himself up in his room with thissurly, vicious beast. I remember once, glancing up from the manuscript Iwas studying by the light of some tallow dips, and seeing Mr. Wildesquatting motionless on his high chair, his eyes fairly blazing withexcitement, while the cat, which had risen from her place before thestove, came creeping across the floor right at him. Before I could moveshe flattened her belly to the ground, crouched, trembled, and spranginto his face. Howling and foaming they rolled over and over on thefloor, scratching and clawing, until the cat screamed and fled under thecabinet, and Mr. Wilde turned over on his back, his limbs contracting andcurling up like the legs of a dying spider. He _was_ eccentric.
Mr. Wilde had climbed into his high chair, and, after studying my face,picked up a dog's-eared ledger and opened it.
"Henry B. Matthews," he read, "book-keeper with Whysot Whysot andCompany, dealers in church ornaments. Called April 3rd. Reputationdamaged on the race-track. Known as a welcher. Reputation to be repairedby August 1st. Retainer Five Dollars." He turned the page and ran hisfingerless knuckles down the closely-written columns.
"P. Greene Dusenberry, Minister of the Gospel, Fairbeach, New Jersey.Reputation damaged in the Bowery. To be repaired as soon as possible.Retainer $100."
He coughed and added, "Called, April 6th."
"Then you are not in need of money, Mr. Wilde," I inquired.
"Listen," he coughed again.
"Mrs. C. Hamilton Chester, of Chester Park, New York City. Called April7th. Reputation damaged at Dieppe, France. To be repaired by October 1stRetainer $500.
"Note.--C. Hamilton Chester, Captain U.S.S. 'Avalanche', ordered homefrom South Sea Squadron October 1st."
"Well," I said, "the profession of a Repairer of Reputations islucrative."
His colourless eyes sought mine, "I only wanted to demonstrate that Iwas correct. You said it was impossible to succeed as a Repairer ofReputations; that even if I did succeed in certain cases it would costme more than I would gain by it. To-day I have five hundred men in myemploy, who are poorly paid, but who pursue the work with an enthusiasmwhich possibly may be born of fear. These men enter every shade and gradeof society; some even are pillars of the most exclusive social temples;others are the prop and pride of the financial world; still others, holdundisputed sway among the 'Fancy and the Talent.' I choose them at myleisure from those who reply to my advertisements. It is easy enough,they are all cowards. I could treble the number in twenty days if Iwished. So you see, those who have in their keeping the reputations oftheir fellow-citizens, I have in my pay."
"They may turn on you," I suggested.
He rubbed his thumb over his cropped ears, and adjusted the waxsubstitutes. "I think not," he murmured thoughtfully, "I seldom have toapply the whip, and then only once. Besides they like their wages."
"How do you apply the whip?" I demanded.
His face for a moment was awful to look upon. His eyes dwindled to a pairof green sparks.
"I invite them to come and have a little chat with me," he said in a softvoice.
A knock at the door interrupted him, and his face resumed its amiableexpression.
"Who is it?" he inquired.
"Mr. Steylette," was the answer.
"Come to-morrow," replied Mr. Wilde.
"Impossible," began the other, but was silenced by a sort of bark fromMr. Wilde.
"Come to-morrow," he repeated.
We heard somebody move away from the door and turn the corner by thestairway.
"Who is that?" I asked.
"Arnold Steylette, Owner and Editor in Chief of the great New Yorkdaily."
He drummed on the ledger with his fingerless hand adding: "I pay him verybadly, but he thinks it a good bargain."
"Arnold Steylette!" I repeated amazed.
"Yes," said Mr. Wilde, with a self-satisfied cough.
The cat, which had entered the room as he spoke, hesitated, looked up athim and snarled. He climbed down from the chair and squatting on thefloor, took the creature into his arms and caressed her. The cat ceasedsnarling and presently began a loud purring which seemed to increase intimbre as he stroked her. "Where are the notes?" I asked. He pointed tothe table, and for the hundredth time I picked up the bundle ofmanuscript entitled--
"THE IMPERIAL DYNASTY OF AMERICA."
One by one I studied the well-worn pages, worn only by my own handling,and although I knew all by heart, from the beginning, "When from Carcosa,the Hyades, Hastur, and Aldebaran," to "Castaigne, Louis de Calvados,born December 19th, 1877," I read it with an eager, rapt attention,pausing to repeat parts of it aloud, and dwelling especially on "Hildredde Calvados, only son of Hildred Castaigne and Edythe Landes Castaigne,first in succession," etc., etc.
When I finished, Mr. Wilde nodded and coughed.
"Speaking of your legitimate ambition," he said, "how do Constance andLouis get along?"
"She loves him," I replied simply.
The cat on his knee suddenly turned and struck at his eyes, and he flungher off and climbed on to the chair opposite me.
"And Dr. Archer! But that's a matter you can settle any time you wish,"he added.
"Yes," I replied, "Dr. Archer can wait, but it is time I saw my cousinLouis."
"It is time," he repeated. Then he took another ledger from the table andran over the leaves rapidly. "We are now in communication with tenthousand men," he muttered. "We can count on one hundred thousand withinthe first twenty-eight hours, and in forty-eight hours the state willrise _en masse_. The country follows the state, and the portion thatwill not, I mean California and the Northwest, might better never havebeen inhabited. I shall not send them the Yellow Sign."
The blood rushed to my head, but I only answered, "A new broom sweepsclean."
"The ambition of Caesar and of Napoleon pales before that which could notrest until it had seized the minds of men and controlled even theirunborn thoughts," said Mr. Wilde.
"You are speaking of the King in Yellow," I groaned, with a shudder.
"He is a king whom emperors have served."
"I am content to serve him," I replied.
Mr. Wilde sat rubbing his ears with his crippled hand. "Perhaps Constancedoes not love him," he suggested.
I started to reply, but a sudden burst of military music from the streetbelow drowned my voice. The twentieth dragoon regiment, formerly ingarrison at Mount St. Vincent, was returning from the manoeuvres inWestchester County, to its new barracks on East Washington Square. It wasmy cousin's regime
nt. They were a fine lot of fellows, in their paleblue, tight-fitting jackets, jaunty busbys and white riding breeches withthe double yellow stripe, into which their limbs seemed moulded. Everyother squadron was armed with lances, from the metal points of whichfluttered yellow and white pennons. The band passed, playing theregimental march, then came the colonel and staff, the horses crowdingand trampling, while their heads bobbed in unison, and the pennonsfluttered from their lance points. The troopers, who rode with thebeautiful English seat, looked brown as berries from their bloodlesscampaign among the farms of Westchester, and the music of their sabresagainst the stirrups, and the jingle of spurs and carbines was delightfulto me. I saw Louis riding with his squadron. He was as handsome anofficer as I have ever seen. Mr. Wilde, who had mounted a chair by thewindow, saw him too, but said nothing. Louis turned and looked straightat Hawberk's shop as he passed, and I could see the flush on his browncheeks. I think Constance must have been at the window. When the lasttroopers had clattered by, and the last pennons vanished into South FifthAvenue, Mr. Wilde clambered out of his chair and dragged the chest awayfrom the door.
"Yes," he said, "it is time that you saw your cousin Louis."
He unlocked the door and I picked up my hat and stick and stepped intothe corridor. The stairs were dark. Groping about, I set my foot onsomething soft, which snarled and spit, and I aimed a murderous blow atthe cat, but my cane shivered to splinters against the balustrade, andthe beast scurried back into Mr. Wilde's room.
Passing Hawberk's door again I saw him still at work on the armour, butI did not stop, and stepping out into Bleecker Street, I followed it toWooster, skirted the grounds of the Lethal Chamber, and crossingWashington Park went straight to my rooms in the Benedick. Here I lunchedcomfortably, read the _Herald_ and the _Meteor_, and finally wentto the steel safe in my bedroom and set the time combination. Thethree and three-quarter minutes which it is necessary to wait, while thetime lock is opening, are to me golden moments. From the instant I setthe combination to the moment when I grasp the knobs and swing backthe solid steel doors, I live in an ecstasy of expectation. Those momentsmust be like moments passed in Paradise. I know what I am to find atthe end of the time limit. I know what the massive safe holds secure forme, for me alone, and the exquisite pleasure of waiting is hardly enhancedwhen the safe opens and I lift, from its velvet crown, a diadem of purestgold, blazing with diamonds. I do this every day, and yet the joy ofwaiting and at last touching again the diadem, only seems to increase asthe days pass. It is a diadem fit for a King among kings, an Emperoramong emperors. The King in Yellow might scorn it, but it shall be wornby his royal servant.
I held it in my arms until the alarm in the safe rang harshly, and thentenderly, proudly, I replaced it and shut the steel doors. I walkedslowly back into my study, which faces Washington Square, and leaned onthe window sill. The afternoon sun poured into my windows, and a gentlebreeze stirred the branches of the elms and maples in the park, nowcovered with buds and tender foliage. A flock of pigeons circled aboutthe tower of the Memorial Church; sometimes alighting on the purple tiledroof, sometimes wheeling downward to the lotos fountain in front of themarble arch. The gardeners were busy with the flower beds around thefountain, and the freshly turned earth smelled sweet and spicy. A lawnmower, drawn by a fat white horse, clinked across the green sward, andwatering-carts poured showers of spray over the asphalt drives. Aroundthe statue of Peter Stuyvesant, which in 1897 had replaced themonstrosity supposed to represent Garibaldi, children played in thespring sunshine, and nurse girls wheeled elaborate baby carriages with areckless disregard for the pasty-faced occupants, which could probably beexplained by the presence of half a dozen trim dragoon troopers languidlylolling on the benches. Through the trees, the Washington Memorial Archglistened like silver in the sunshine, and beyond, on the easternextremity of the square the grey stone barracks of the dragoons, and thewhite granite artillery stables were alive with colour and motion.
I looked at the Lethal Chamber on the corner of the square opposite. Afew curious people still lingered about the gilded iron railing, butinside the grounds the paths were deserted. I watched the fountainsripple and sparkle; the sparrows had already found this new bathing nook,and the basins were covered with the dusty-feathered little things. Twoor three white peacocks picked their way across the lawns, and a drabcoloured pigeon sat so motionless on the arm of one of the "Fates," thatit seemed to be a part of the sculptured stone.
As I was turning carelessly away, a slight commotion in the group ofcurious loiterers around the gates attracted my attention. A young manhad entered, and was advancing with nervous strides along the gravel pathwhich leads to the bronze doors of the Lethal Chamber. He paused a momentbefore the "Fates," and as he raised his head to those three mysteriousfaces, the pigeon rose from its sculptured perch, circled about for amoment and wheeled to the east. The young man pressed his hand to hisface, and then with an undefinable gesture sprang up the marble steps,the bronze doors closed behind him, and half an hour later the loiterersslouched away, and the frightened pigeon returned to its perch in thearms of Fate.
I put on my hat and went out into the park for a little walk beforedinner. As I crossed the central driveway a group of officers passed, andone of them called out, "Hello, Hildred," and came back to shake handswith me. It was my cousin Louis, who stood smiling and tapping hisspurred heels with his riding-whip.
"Just back from Westchester," he said; "been doing the bucolic; milk andcurds, you know, dairy-maids in sunbonnets, who say 'haeow' and 'I don'tthink' when you tell them they are pretty. I'm nearly dead for a squaremeal at Delmonico's. What's the news?"
"There is none," I replied pleasantly. "I saw your regiment coming in thismorning."
"Did you? I didn't see you. Where were you?"
"In Mr. Wilde's window."
"Oh, hell!" he began impatiently, "that man is stark mad! I don'tunderstand why you--"
He saw how annoyed I felt by this outburst, and begged my pardon.
"Really, old chap," he said, "I don't mean to run down a man you like,but for the life of me I can't see what the deuce you find in common withMr. Wilde. He's not well bred, to put it generously; he is hideouslydeformed; his head is the head of a criminally insane person. You knowyourself he's been in an asylum--"
"So have I," I interrupted calmly.
Louis looked startled and confused for a moment, but recovered andslapped me heartily on the shoulder. "You were completely cured," hebegan; but I stopped him again.
"I suppose you mean that I was simply acknowledged never to have beeninsane."
"Of course that--that's what I meant," he laughed.
I disliked his laugh because I knew it was forced, but I nodded gaily andasked him where he was going. Louis looked after his brother officers whohad now almost reached Broadway.
"We had intended to sample a Brunswick cocktail, but to tell you thetruth I was anxious for an excuse to go and see Hawberk instead. Comealong, I'll make you my excuse."
We found old Hawberk, neatly attired in a fresh spring suit, standing atthe door of his shop and sniffing the air.
"I had just decided to take Constance for a little stroll before dinner,"he replied to the impetuous volley of questions from Louis. "We thoughtof walking on the park terrace along the North River."
At that moment Constance appeared and grew pale and rosy by turns asLouis bent over her small gloved fingers. I tried to excuse myself,alleging an engagement uptown, but Louis and Constance would not listen,and I saw I was expected to remain and engage old Hawberk's attention.After all it would be just as well if I kept my eye on Louis, I thought,and when they hailed a Spring Street horse-car, I got in after them andtook my seat beside the armourer.
The beautiful line of parks and granite terraces overlooking the wharvesalong the North River, which were built in 1910 and finished in theautumn of 1917, had become one of the most popular promenades in themetropolis. They extended from the battery to 190th Street, overlookingthe n
oble river and affording a fine view of the Jersey shore and theHighlands opposite. Cafes and restaurants were scattered here and thereamong the trees, and twice a week military bands from the garrison playedin the kiosques on the parapets.
We sat down in the sunshine on the bench at the foot of the equestrianstatue of General Sheridan. Constance tipped her sunshade to shield hereyes, and she and Louis began a murmuring conversation which wasimpossible to catch. Old Hawberk, leaning on his ivory headed cane,lighted an excellent cigar, the mate to which I politely refused, andsmiled at vacancy. The sun hung low above the Staten Island woods, andthe bay was dyed with golden hues reflected from the sun-warmed sails ofthe shipping in the harbour.
Brigs, schooners, yachts, clumsy ferry-boats, their decks swarming withpeople, railroad transports carrying lines of brown, blue and whitefreight cars, stately sound steamers, declasse tramp steamers, coasters,dredgers, scows, and everywhere pervading the entire bay impudent littletugs puffing and whistling officiously;--these were the craft whichchurned the sunlight waters as far as the eye could reach. In calmcontrast to the hurry of sailing vessel and steamer a silent fleet ofwhite warships lay motionless in midstream.
Constance's merry laugh aroused me from my reverie.
"What _are_ you staring at?" she inquired.
"Nothing--the fleet," I smiled.
Then Louis told us what the vessels were, pointing out each by itsrelative position to the old Red Fort on Governor's Island.
"That little cigar shaped thing is a torpedo boat," he explained; "thereare four more lying close together. They are the _Tarpon_, the _Falcon_,the _Sea Fox_, and the _Octopus_. The gun-boats just above are the_Princeton_, the _Champlain_, the _Still Water_ and the _Erie_. Next tothem lie the cruisers _Faragut_ and _Los Angeles_, and above them thebattle ships _California_, and _Dakota_, and the _Washington_ which isthe flag ship. Those two squatty looking chunks of metal which areanchored there off Castle William are the double turreted monitors_Terrible_ and _Magnificent_; behind them lies the ram, _Osceola_."
Constance looked at him with deep approval in her beautiful eyes. "Whatloads of things you know for a soldier," she said, and we all joined inthe laugh which followed.
Presently Louis rose with a nod to us and offered his arm to Constance,and they strolled away along the river wall. Hawberk watched them for amoment and then turned to me.
"Mr. Wilde was right," he said. "I have found the missing tassets andleft cuissard of the 'Prince's Emblazoned,' in a vile old junk garret inPell Street."
"998?" I inquired, with a smile.
"Yes."
"Mr. Wilde is a very intelligent man," I observed.
"I want to give him the credit of this most important discovery,"continued Hawberk. "And I intend it shall be known that he is entitledto the fame of it."
"He won't thank you for that," I answered sharply; "please say nothingabout it."
"Do you know what it is worth?" said Hawberk.
"No, fifty dollars, perhaps."
"It is valued at five hundred, but the owner of the 'Prince's Emblazoned'will give two thousand dollars to the person who completes his suit; thatreward also belongs to Mr. Wilde."
"He doesn't want it! He refuses it!" I answered angrily. "What do youknow about Mr. Wilde? He doesn't need the money. He is rich--or willbe--richer than any living man except myself. What will we care for moneythen--what will we care, he and I, when--when--"
"When what?" demanded Hawberk, astonished.
"You will see," I replied, on my guard again.
He looked at me narrowly, much as Doctor Archer used to, and I knew hethought I was mentally unsound. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that hedid not use the word lunatic just then.
"No," I replied to his unspoken thought, "I am not mentally weak; my mindis as healthy as Mr. Wilde's. I do not care to explain just yet what Ihave on hand, but it is an investment which will pay more than mere gold,silver and precious stones. It will secure the happiness and prosperityof a continent--yes, a hemisphere!"
"Oh," said Hawberk.
"And eventually," I continued more quietly, "it will secure the happinessof the whole world."
"And incidentally your own happiness and prosperity as well as Mr.Wilde's?"
"Exactly," I smiled. But I could have throttled him for taking that tone.
He looked at me in silence for a while and then said very gently, "Whydon't you give up your books and studies, Mr. Castaigne, and take a trampamong the mountains somewhere or other? You used to be fond of fishing.Take a cast or two at the trout in the Rangelys."
"I don't care for fishing any more," I answered, without a shade ofannoyance in my voice.
"You used to be fond of everything," he continued; "athletics, yachting,shooting, riding--"
"I have never cared to ride since my fall," I said quietly.
"Ah, yes, your fall," he repeated, looking away from me.
I thought this nonsense had gone far enough, so I brought theconversation back to Mr. Wilde; but he was scanning my face again in amanner highly offensive to me.
"Mr. Wilde," he repeated, "do you know what he did this afternoon? Hecame downstairs and nailed a sign over the hall door next to mine; itread:
"MR. WILDE,REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS.Third Bell.
"Do you know what a Repairer of Reputations can be?"
"I do," I replied, suppressing the rage within.
"Oh," he said again.
Louis and Constance came strolling by and stopped to ask if we would jointhem. Hawberk looked at his watch. At the same moment a puff of smokeshot from the casemates of Castle William, and the boom of the sunset gunrolled across the water and was re-echoed from the Highlands opposite.The flag came running down from the flag-pole, the bugles sounded on thewhite decks of the warships, and the first electric light sparkled outfrom the Jersey shore.
As I turned into the city with Hawberk I heard Constance murmur somethingto Louis which I did not understand; but Louis whispered "My darling," inreply; and again, walking ahead with Hawberk through the square I heard amurmur of "sweetheart," and "my own Constance," and I knew the time hadnearly arrived when I should speak of important matters with my cousinLouis.