III
"Well, sir," said Mr. Seven Sachs, "I have to thank you for getting meout of a very unsatisfactory situation."
"Did you really want to get out of it?" asked Edward Henry.
Mr. Sachs replied simply:
"I did, sir. There were too many partners for my taste."
They were seated more familiarly now in the drawing-room, being indeedseparated only by a small table, upon which were glasses. And whereason a night in the previous week Edward Henry had been entertained byMr. Bryany in a private parlour at the Turk's Head, Hanbridge, on thisnight he was in a sort repaying the welcome to Mr. Bryany's master ina private parlour at Wilkins's, London. The sole difference in favourof Mr. Bryany was that while Mr. Bryany provided cigarettes andwhisky, Edward Henry was providing only cigarettes and Vichy water.Mr. Seven Sachs had said that he never took whisky; and though EdwardHenry's passion for Vichy water was not quite ungovernable, he thoughtwell to give rein to it on the present occasion, having read somewherethat Vichy water placated the stomach.
Joseph had been instructed to retire.
"And not only that," resumed Mr. Seven Sachs, "but you've got a verygood thing entirely into your own hands! Masterly, sir! Masterly! Why,at the end you positively had the air of doing them a favour! You madethem believe you _were_ doing them a favour."
"And don't you think I was?"
Mr. Sachs reflected, and then laughed.
"You were," he said. "That's the beauty of it. But at the same timeyou were getting away with the goods!"
It was by sheer instinct, and not by learning, that Edward Henryfully grasped, as he did, the deep significance of the American idiomemployed by Mr. Seven Sachs. He too laughed, as Mr. Sachs had laughed.He was immeasurably flattered. He had not been so flattered since theCountess of Chell had permitted him to offer her China tea, meringues,and Berlin pancakes at the Sub Rosa tea-rooms in Hanbridge--and thatwas a very long time ago.
"You really _do_ think it's a good thing?" Edward Henry ventured, forhe had not yet been convinced of the entire goodness of theatricalenterprise near Piccadilly Circus.
Mr. Seven Sachs convinced him--not by argument but by the sincerityof his gestures and tones. For it was impossible to question that Mr.Seven Sachs knew what he was talking about. The shape of Mr. SevenSachs's chin was alone enough to prove that Mr. Sachs was incapableof a mere ignorant effervescence. Everything about Mr. Sachs waspersuasive and confidence-inspiring. His long silences had the easyvigour of oratory, and they served also to make his speech peculiarlyimpressive. Moreover, he was a handsome and a dark man, and probablyhalf a dozen years younger than Edward Henry. And the discipline oflime-light had taught him the skill to be forever graceful. And hissmile, rare enough, was that of a boy.
"Of course," said he, "if Miss Euclid and the others had had any sensethey might have done very well for themselves. If you ask me, theoption alone is worth ten thousand dollars. But then they haven't anysense! And that's all there is to it."
"So you'd advise me to go ahead with the affair on my own?"
Mr. Seven Sachs, his black eyes twinkling, leaned forward and becamerather intimately humorous:
"You look as if you wanted advice, don't you?" said he.
"I suppose I do--now I come to think of it!" agreed Edward Henry, witha most admirable quizzicalness; in spite of the fact that he had notreally meant to "go ahead with the affair," being in truth a littledoubtful of his capacity to handle it.
But Mr. Seven Sachs was, all unconsciously, forcing Edward Henryto believe in his own capacities; and the two as it were suddenlydeveloped a more cordial friendliness. Each felt the quick lifting ofthe plane of their relations, and was aware of a pleasurable emotion.
"I'm moving onwards--gently onwards," crooned Edward Henry to himself."What price Brindley and his half-crown now?" Londoners might callhim a provincial, and undoubtedly would call him a provincial; headmitted, even, that he felt like a provincial in the streets ofLondon. And yet here he was, "doing Londoners in the eye all over theplace," and receiving the open homage of Mr. Seven Sachs, whose namewas the basis of a cosmopolitan legend.
And now he made the cardinal discovery, which marks an epoch in thelife of every man who arrives at it, that world-celebrated personsare very like other persons. And he was happy and rather proud in thisdiscovery, and began to feel a certain vague desire to tell Mr.Seven Sachs the history of his career--or at any rate the picturesqueportions of it. For he too was famous in his own sphere; and in thedrawing-room of Wilkins's one celebrity was hob-nobbing with another!("Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Brindley!") Yes, hewas happy, both in what he had already accomplished, and in thecontemplation of romantic adventures to come.
And yet his happiness was marred--not fatally but quiteappreciably--by a remorse that no amount of private argument withhimself would conjure away. Which was the more singular in thata morbid tendency to remorse had never been among Edward Henry'sdefects! He was worrying, foolish fellow, about the falsetelephone-call in which, for the purpose of testing Rose Euclid'sloyalty to the new enterprise, he had pretended to be the new privatesecretary of Sir John Pilgrim. Yet what harm had it done? And had itnot done a lot of good? Rose Euclid and her youthful worshipper wereno worse off than they had been before being victimized by the deceitof the telephone-call. Prior to the call they had assumed themselvesto be deprived for ever of the benefits which association with SirJohn Pilgrim could offer, and as a fact they were deprived for ever ofsuch benefits. Nothing changed there! Before the call they had had nohope of lunching with the enormous Sir John on the morrow, and as afact they would not lunch with the enormous Sir John on the morrow.Nothing changed there, either! Again, in no event would Edward Henryhave joined the trio in order to make a quartet in partnership. Evenhad he been as convinced of Rose's loyalty as he was convinced of herdisloyalty, he would never have been rash enough to co-operate withsuch a crew. Again, nothing changed!
On the other hand, he had acquired an assurance of the artiste'sduplicity, which assurance had made it easier for him to disappointher, while the prospect of a business repast with Sir John had helpedher to bear the disappointment as a brave woman should. It was truethat on the morrow, about lunch-time, Rose Euclid and Carlo Trentmight have to live through a few rather trying moments, and they wouldcertainly be very angry; but these drawbacks would have been more thancompensated for in advance by the pleasures of hope. And had theynot between them pocketed seventy-five pounds which they had stood tolose?
Such reasoning was unanswerable, and his remorse did not attempt toanswer it. His remorse was not open to reason; it was one of thosestupid, primitive sentiments which obstinately persist in the refinedand rational fabric of modern humanity.
He was just sorry for Rose Euclid.
"Do you know what I did?" he burst out confidentially, and confessedthe whole telephone-trick to Mr. Seven Sachs.
Mr. Seven Sachs, somewhat to Edward Henry's surprise, expressed highadmiration of the device.
"A bit mean, though, don't you think?" Edward Henry protested weakly.
"Not at all!" cried Mr. Sachs. "You got the goods on her. And shedeserved it."
(Again this enigmatic and mystical word "goods"! But he understoodit.)
Thus encouraged, he was now quite determined to give Mr. Seven Sachsa brief episodic account of his career. A fair conversational openingwas all he wanted in order to begin.
"I wonder what will happen to her--ultimately?" he said, meaning towork back from the ends of careers to their beginnings, and so tohimself.
"Rose Euclid?"
"Yes."
Mr. Sachs shook his head compassionately.
"How did Mr. Bryany get in with her?" asked Edward Henry.
"Bryany is a highly peculiar person," said Mr. Seven Sachs,familiarly. "He's all right so long as you don't unstrap him. He wasborn to convince newspaper reporters of his own greatness."
"I had a bit of a talk with him myself," said Edward Henry.
&nb
sp; "Oh, yes! He told me all about you."
"But _I_ never told him anything about myself," said Edward Henry,quickly.
"No, but he has eyes, you know, and ears too. Seems to me the peopleof the Five Towns do little else of a night but discuss you, Mr.Machin. _I_ heard a good bit when _I_ was down there, though I don'tgo about much when I'm on the road. I reckon I could write a wholebiography of you."
Edward Henry smiled self-consciously. He was, of course, enraptured,but at the same time it was disappointing to find Mr. Sachs alreadyso fully informed as to the details of his career. However, he did notintend to let that prevent him from telling the story afresh, in hisown manner.
"I suppose you've had your adventures, too," he remarked withnonchalance, partly from politeness but mainly in order to avoid theappearance of hurry in his egotism.