I
Throughout the voyage of the _Lithuania_ from Liverpool to New York,Edward Henry, in common with some two thousand other people on board,had the sensation of being hurried. He who in a cab rides late toan important appointment, arrives with muscles fatigued by mentallyaiding the horse to move the vehicle along. Thus were Edward Henry'smuscles fatigued, and the muscles of many others; but just as muchmore so as the _Lithuania_ was bigger than a cab.
For the _Lithuania_, having been seriously delayed in Liverpool by menwho were most ridiculously striking for the fantastic remuneration ofone pound a week, was engaged on the business of making new records.And every passenger was personally determined that she should thereinsucceed. And, despite very bad June weather towards the end, she didsail past the Battery on a grand Monday morning with a new record toher credit.
So far Edward Henry's plan was not miscarrying. But he had a verygreat deal to do, and very little time in which to do it, and whereasthe muscles of the other passengers were relaxed as the ship drew toher berth, Edward Henry's muscles were only more tensely tightened.He had expected to see Mr. Seven Sachs on the quay, for in response tohis telegram from Queenstown the illustrious actor-author had sent himan agreeable wireless message in full Atlantic; the which had inspiredEdward Henry to obtain news by Marconi both from London and New York,at much expense; from the east he had had daily information of thedwindling receipts at the Regent Theatre, and from the west dailyinformation concerning Isabel Joy. He had not, however, expected Mr.Seven Sachs to walk into the _Lithuania's_ music-saloon an hour beforethe ship touched the quay. Nevertheless, this was what Mr. SevenSachs did, by the exercise of those mysterious powers wielded by theinfluential in democratic communities.
"And what are you doing here?" Mr. Seven Sachs greeted Edward Henrywith geniality.
Edward Henry lowered his voice.
"I'm throwing good money after bad," said he.
The friendly grip of Mr. Seven Sachs's hand did him good, reassuredhim, and gave him courage. He was utterly tired of the voyage, andalso of the poetical society of Carlo Trent, whose passage had costhim thirty pounds, considerable boredom, and some sick-nursing duringthe final days and nights. A dramatic poet with an appetite was a fulldose for Edward Henry; but a dramatic poet who lay on his back andmoaned for naught but soda-water and dry land amounted to more thanEdward Henry could conveniently swallow.
He directed Mr. Sachs's attention to the anguished and debile organismwhich had once been Carlo Trent, and Mr. Sachs was so sympatheticthat Carlo Trent began to adore him, and Edward Henry to be somewhatdisturbed in his previous estimate of Mr. Sachs's common sense. But ata favourable moment Mr. Sachs breathed humorously into Edward Henry'sear the question:
"What have you brought _him_ out for?"
"I've brought him out to lose him."
As they pushed through the bustle of the enormous ship, and descendedfrom the dizzy eminence of her boat-deck by lifts and ladders downto the level of the windy, sun-steeped rock of New York, Edward Henrysaid:
"Now, I want you to understand, Mr. Sachs, that I haven't a minute tospare. I've just looked in for lunch."
"Going on to Chicago?"
"She isn't at Chicago, is she?" demanded Edward Henry, aghast. "Ithought she'd reached New York!"
"Who?"
"Isabel Joy."
"Oh! Isabel's in New York, sure enough. She's right here. They sayshe'll have to catch the _Lithuania_ if she's going to get away withit."
"Get away with what?"
"Well--the goods."
The precious word reminded Edward Henry of an evening at Wilkins's andraised his spirits even higher. It was a word he loved.
"And I've got to catch the _Lithuania_, too!" said he. "But Trentdoesn't know!... And let me tell you she's going to do the quickestturn-round that any ship ever did. The purser assured me she'll leaveat noon to-morrow unless the world comes to an end in the meantime.Now what about a hotel?"
"You'll stay with me--naturally."
"But--" Edward Henry protested.
"Oh, yes, you will. I shall be delighted."
"But I must look after Trent."
"He'll stay with me too--naturally. I live at the Stuyvesant Hotel,you know, on Fifth. I've a pretty private suite there. I shall arrangea little supper for to-night. My automobile is here."
"Is it possible that I once saved your life and have forgotten allabout it?" Edward Henry exclaimed. "Or do you treat everybody likethis?"
"We like to look after our friends," said Mr. Sachs, simply.
In the terrific confusion of the quay, where groups of passengerswere mounted like watch-dogs over hillocks of baggage, Mr. Sachs stoodcontinually between the travellers and the administrative rigour andofficial incredulity of a proud republic. And in the minimum of timethe fine trunk of Edward Henry and the modest packages of the poetwere on the roof of Mr. Sachs's vast car. The three men were inside,and the car was leaping, somewhat in the manner of a motor-boat atfull speed, over the cobbles of a wide mediaeval street.
"Quick!" thought Edward Henry. "I haven't a minute to lose!"
His prayer reached the chauffeur. Conversation was difficult; CarloTrent groaned. Presently they rolled less perilously upon asphalt,though the equipage still lurched. Edward Henry was for ever bendinghis head towards the window aperture in order to glimpse the roofs ofthe buildings, and never seeing the roofs.
"Now we're on Fifth," said Mr. Sachs, after a fearful lurch, withpride.
Vistas of flags, high cornices, crowded pavements, marble, jewellerybehind glass--the whole seen through a roaring phantasmagoria ofcompeting and menacing vehicles!
And Edward Henry thought:
"This is my sort of place!"
The jolting recommenced. Carlo Trent rebounded limply, groaningbetween cushions and upholstery. Edward Henry tried to pretend that hewas not frightened. Then there was a shock as of the concussion oftwo equally unyielding natures. A pane of glass in Mr. Seven Sachs'slimousine flew to fragments and the car stopped.
"I expect that's a spring gone!" observed Mr. Sachs with tranquillity."Will happen, you know, sometimes!"
Everybody got out. Mr. Sachs's presumption was correct. One of theback wheels had failed to leap over a hole in Fifth Avenue someeighteen inches deep and two feet long.
"What is that hole?" asked Edward Henry.
"Well," said Mr. Sachs, "it's just a hole. We'd better transfer to ataxi." He gave calm orders to his chauffeur.
Four empty taxis passed down the sunny magnificence of Fifth Avenueand ignored Mr. Sachs's urgent waving. The fifth stopped. The baggagewas strapped and tied to it: which process occupied much time. EdwardHenry, fuming against delay, gazed around. A nonchalant policeman ona superb horse occupied the middle of the road. Tram-cars passedconstantly across the street in front of his caracoling horse,dividing a route for themselves in the wild ocean of traffic as Mosescut into the Red Sea. At intervals a knot of persons, intimidated andyet daring, would essay the voyage from one pavement to the oppositepavement; there was no half-way refuge for these adventurers, as indecrepit London; some apparently arrived; others seemed to disappearfor ever in the feverish welter of confused motion and were neverheard of again. The policeman, easily accommodating himself to thecaracolings of his mount, gazed absently at Edward Henry, and EdwardHenry gazed first at the policeman, and then at the high decoratedgrandeur of the buildings, and then at the Assyrian taxi into whichMr. Sachs was now ingeniously inserting Carlo Trent. He thought:
"No mistake--this street is alive. But what cemeteries they musthave!"
He followed Carlo, with minute precautions, into the interior ofthe taxi. And then came the supremely delicate operation--that ofintroducing a third person into the same vehicle. It was accomplished;three chins and six knees fraternized in close intimacy; but the doorwould not shut. Wheezing, snorting, shaking, complaining, the taxidrew slowly away from Mr. Sachs's luxurious automobile and left itforlorn to its chauffeur. Mr. Sachs imperturbably s
miled. ("I have twoother automobiles," said Mr. Sachs.) In some sixty seconds the taxistopped in front of the tremendous glass awning of the Stuyvesant. Thebaggage was unstrapped; the passengers were extracted one by one fromthe cell, and Edward Henry saw Mr. Sachs give two separate dollarbills to the driver.
"By Jove!" he murmured.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sachs, politely.
"Nothing!" said Edward Henry.
They walked into the hotel, and passed through a long succession ofcorridors and vast public rooms surging with well-dressed men andwomen.
"What's all this crowd for?" asked Edward Henry.
"What crowd?" asked Mr. Sachs, surprised.
Edward Henry saw that he had blundered.
"I prefer the upper floors," remarked Mr. Sachs as they were beingflung upwards in a gilded elevator, and passing rapidly all numbersfrom 1 to 14.
The elevator made an end of Carlo Trent's manhood. He collapsed. Mr.Sachs regarded him, and then said:
"I think I'll get an extra room for Mr. Trent. He ought to go to bed."
Edward Henry enthusiastically concurred.
"And stay there!" said Edward Henry.
Pale Carlo Trent permitted himself to be put to bed. But, therein, heproved fractious. He was anxious about his linen. Mr. Sachs telephonedfrom the bedside, and a laundry-maid came. He was anxious about hisbest lounge-suit. Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a valet came. Then hewanted a siphon of soda-water, and Mr. Sachs telephoned, and a waitercame. Then it was a newspaper he required. Mr. Sachs telephoned anda page came. All these functionaries, together with two reporters,peopled Mr. Trent's bedroom more or less simultaneously. It was EdwardHenry's bright notion to add to them a doctor--a doctor whom Mr. Sachsknew, a doctor who would perceive at once that bed was the only properplace for Carlo Trent.
"Now," said Edward Henry, when he and Mr. Sachs were participating ina private lunch amid the splendours and the grim, silent service ofthe latter's suite at the Stuyvesant, "I have fully grasped the factthat I am in New York. It is one o'clock and after, and as soon asever this meal is over I have just _got_ to find Isabel Joy. You mustunderstand that on this trip New York for me is merely a town whereIsabel Joy happens to be."
"Well," replied Mr. Sachs, "I reckon I can put you on to that. _She'sgoing to be photographed at two o'clock by Rentoul Smiles_. I happento know because Rent's a particular friend of mine."
"A photographer, you say?"
Mr. Sachs controlled himself. "Do you mean to say you've not heardof Rentoul Smiles?... Well, he's called 'Man's photographer.' He hasnever photographed a woman! Won't! At least, wouldn't! But he's goingto photograph Isabel. So you may guess that he considers Isabel _some_woman, eh?"
"And how will that help me?" inquired Edward Henry.
"Why! I'll take you up to Rent's," Mr. Sachs comforted him. "It'sclose by--corner of Thirty-ninth and Five."
"Tell me," Edward Henry demanded, with immense relief, "she hasn't gotherself arrested yet, has she?"
"No. And she won't!"
"Why not?"
"The police have been put wise," said Mr. Sachs.
"Put wise?"
"Yes. _Put wise_!"
"I see," said Edward Henry.
But he did not see. He only half saw.
"As a matter of fact," said Mr. Sachs, "Isabel can't get away with thegoods unless she fixes the police to lock her up for a few hours. Andshe'll not succeed in that. Her hundred days are up in London nextSunday. So there'll be no time for her to be arrested and bailed outeither at Liverpool or Fishguard. And that's her only chance. I'veseen Isabel, and if you ask me my opinion she's down and out."
"Never mind!" said Edward Henry with glee.
"I guess what you're after her for," said Mr. Seven Sachs, with an airof deep knowledge.
"The deuce you do!"
"Yes, sir! And let me tell you that dozens of 'em have been after heralready. But she wouldn't! Nothing would tempt her."
"Never mind!" Edward Henry smiled.