INCIDENT OF THE PRIVATE BAR.
Mr. Dyson often meditated at odd moments over the singular tale he hadlistened to at the Cafe de la Touraine. In the first place he cherisheda profound conviction that the words of truth were scattered with a tooniggardly and sparing hand over the agreeable history of Mr. Smith andthe Black Gulf Canyon; and, secondly, there was the undeniable fact ofthe profound agitation of the narrator, and his gestures on thepavement, too violent to be simulated. The idea of a man going aboutLondon haunted by the fear of meeting a young man with spectacles struckDyson as supremely ridiculous; he searched his memory for some precedentin romance, but without success; he paid visits at odd times to thelittle cafe, hoping to find Mr. Wilkins there; and he kept a sharp watchon the great generation of the spectacled men without much doubt that hewould remember the face of the individual whom he had seen dart out ofthe Aerated Bread Shop. All his peregrinations and researches, however,seemed to lead to nothing of value, and Dyson needed all his warmconviction of his innate detective powers and his strong scent formystery to sustain him in his endeavors. In fact, he had two affairs onhand; and every day, as he passed through streets crowded or deserted,and lurked in the obscure districts, and watched at corners, he was morethan surprised to find that the affair of the gold coin persistentlyavoided him; while the ingenious Wilkins, and the young man withspectacles whom he dreaded, seemed to have vanished from the pavements.
He was pondering these problems one evening in a house of call in theStrand, and the obstinacy with which the persons he so ardently desiredto meet hung back gave the modest tankard before him an additional touchof bitter. As it happened, he was alone in his compartment, and, withoutthinking, he uttered aloud the burden of his meditations. "How bizarreit all is!" he said, "a man walking the pavement with the dread of atimid-looking young man with spectacles continually hovering before hiseyes. And there was some tremendous feeling at work, I could swear tothat." Quick as thought, before he had finished the sentence, a headpopped round the barrier, and was withdrawn again; and while Dyson waswondering what this could mean, the door of the compartment was swungopen, and a smooth, clean-shaven, and smiling gentleman entered.
"You will excuse me, sir," he said politely, "for intruding on yourthoughts, but you made a remark a minute ago."
"I did," said Dyson; "I have been puzzling over a foolish matter, and Ithought aloud. As you heard what I said, and seem interested, perhapsyou may be able to relieve my perplexity?"
"Indeed. I scarcely know; it is an odd coincidence. One has to becautions. I suppose, sir, that you would have no repulsion in assistingthe ends of justice."
"Justice," replied Dyson, "is a term of such wide meaning, that I toofeel doubtful about giving an answer. But this place is not altogetherfit for such a discussion; perhaps you would come to my rooms?"
"You are very kind; my name is Burton, but I am sorry to say I have nota card with me. Do you live near here?"
"Within ten minutes' walk."
Mr. Burton took out his watch and seemed to be making a rapidcalculation.
"I have a train to catch," he said; "but after all, it is a late one.So, if you don't mind, I think I will come with you. I am sure we shouldhave a little talk together. We turn up here?"
The theatres were filling as they crossed the Strand, the street seemedalive with voices, and Dyson looked fondly about him. The glitteringlines of gas-lamps, with here and there the blinding radiance of anelectric light, the hansoms that flashed to and fro with ringing bells,the laden buses, and the eager hurrying east and west of the footpassengers, made his most enchanting picture; and the graceful spire ofSt. Mary le Strand, on the one hand, and the last flush of sunset on theother, were to him a cause of thanksgiving, as the gorse blossom toLinnaeus. Mr. Burton caught his look of fondness as they crossed thestreet.
"I see you can find the picturesque in London," he said. "To me thisgreat town is as I see it is to you, the study and the love of life. Yethow few there are that can pierce the veils of apparent monotony andmeanness! I have read in a paper which is said to have the largestcirculation in the world, a comparison between the aspects of London andParis, a comparison which should be positively laureat, as the greatmasterpiece of fatuous stupidity. Conceive if you can a human being ofordinary intelligence preferring the Boulevards to our London streets;imagine a man calling for the wholesale destruction of our most charmingcity, in order that the dull uniformity of that whited sepulchre calledParis should be reproduced here in London. Is it not positivelyincredible?"
"My dear sir," said Dyson, regarding Burton with a good deal ofinterest. "I agree most heartily with your opinions, but I really cannotshare your wonder. Have you heard how much George Eliot received for'Romola'? Do you know what the circulation of 'Robert Elsmere' was? Doyou read 'Tit Bits' regularly? To me, on the contrary, it is constantmatter both for wonder and thanksgiving that London was notboulevardized twenty years ago. I praise that exquisite jagged sky linethat stands up against the pale greens and fading blues and flushingclouds of sunset, but I wonder even more than I praise. As for St. Maryle Strand, its preservation is a miracle, nothing more or less. A thingof exquisite beauty _versus_ four buses abreast! Really, the conclusionis too obvious. Didn't you read the letter of the man who proposed thatthe whole mysterious system, the immemorial plan of computing Easter,should, be abolished off-hand because he doesn't like his son having hisholidays as early as March 20th? But shall we be going on?"
They had lingered at the corner of a street on the north side of theStrand, enjoying the contrasts and the glamour of the scene. Dysonpointed the way with a gesture, and they strolled up the comparativelydeserted streets, slanting a little to the right, and thus arriving atDyson's lodging on the verge of Bloomsbury. Mr. Burton took acomfortable armchair by the open window, while Dyson lit the candles andproduced the whiskey and soda and cigarettes.
"They tell me these cigarettes are very good," he said, "but I knownothing about it myself. I hold at last that there is only one tobacco,and that is shag. I suppose I could not tempt you to try a pipeful?"
Mr. Burton smilingly refused the offer, and picked out a cigarette fromthe box. When he had smoked it half through, he said with somehesitation:--
"It is really kind of you to have me here, Mr. Dyson; the fact is thatthe interests at issue are far too serious to be discussed in a bar,where, as you found for yourself, there may be listeners, voluntary orinvoluntary, on each side. I think the remark I heard you make wassomething about the oddity of an individual going about London in deadlyfear of a young man with spectacles."
"Yes, that was it."
"Well, would you mind confiding to me the circumstances that gave riseto the reflection?"
"Not in the least; it was like this." And he ran over in brief outlinethe adventure in Oxford Street, dwelling on the violence of Mr.Wilkins's gestures, but wholly suppressing the tale told in the cafe."He told me he lived in constant terror of meeting this man; and I lefthim when I thought he was cool enough to look after himself," saidDyson, ending his narrative.
"Really," said Mr. Burton. "And you actually saw this mysteriousperson."
"Yes."
"And could you describe him?"
"Well, he looked to me a youngish man, pale and nervous. He had smallblack side whiskers, and wore rather large spectacles."
"But this is simply marvellous! You astonish me. For I must tell youthat my interest in the matter is this. I am not in the least in terrorof meeting a dark young man with spectacles, but I shrewdly suspect aperson of that description would much rather not meet me. And yet theaccount you give of the man tallies exactly. A nervous glance to rightand left--is it not so? And, as you observed, he wears prominentspectacles, and has small black whiskers. There cannot be surely twopeople exactly identical--one a cause of terror, and the other, I shouldimagine, extremely anxious to get out of the way. But have you seen thisman since?"
"No, I have not; and I have been looking out for him pretty keenly. But,
of course, he may have left London, and England too for the matter ofthat."
Hardly, I think. Well, Mr. Dyson, it is only fair that I should explainmy story, now that I have listened, to yours. I must tell you, then,that I am an agent for curiosities and precious things of all kinds. Anodd employment, isn't it? Of course I wasn't brought up to the business;I gradually fell into it. I have always been fond of things queer andrare, and by the time I was twenty I had made half a dozen collections.It is not generally known how often farm laborers come upon rarities;you would be astonished if I told you what I have seen turned up by theplough. I lived in the country in those days, and I used to buy anythingthe men on the farms brought me; and I had the queerest set of rubbish,as my friends called my collection. But that's how I got the scent ofthe business, which means everything; and, later on, it struck me that Imight very well turn my knowledge to account and add to my income. Sincethose early days I have been in most quarters of the world, and somevery valuable things have passed through my hands, and I have had toengage in difficult and delicate negotiations. You have possibly heardof the Khan opal--called in the East 'The Stone of a Thousand and OneColors'? Well, perhaps the conquest of that stone was my greatestachievement. I call it myself the stone of the thousand and one lies,for I assure you that I had to invent a cycle of folk-lore before theRajah who owned it would consent to sell the thing. I subsidizedwandering story-tellers, who told tales in which the opal played afrightful part; I hired a holy man, a great ascetic, to prophesy againstthe thing in the language of Eastern symbolism; in short, I frightenedthe Rajah out of his wits. So you see there is room for diplomacy inthe traffic I am engaged in. I have to be ever on my guard, and I haveoften been sensible that unless I watched every step and weighed everyword my life would not last me much longer. Last April I became aware ofthe existence of a highly valuable antique gem. It was in SouthernItaly, and in the possession of persons who were ignorant of its realvalue. It has always been my experience that it is precisely theignorant who are most difficult to deal with. I have met farmers whowere under the impression that a shilling of George I. was a find ofalmost incalculable value; and all the defeats I have sustained havebeen at the hands of people of this description. Reflecting on thesefacts, I saw that the acquisition of the gem I have mentioned would bean affair demanding the nicest diplomacy; I might possibly have got itby offering a sum approaching its real value, but I need not point outto you that such a proceeding would be most unbusinesslike. Indeed, Idoubt whether it would have been successful, for the cupidity of suchpersons is aroused by a sum which seems enormous, and the low cunningwhich serves them in place of intelligence immediately suggests that theobject for which such an amount is offered must be worth at leastdouble. Of course, when it is a matter of an ordinary curiosity--an oldjug, a carved chest, or a queer brass lantern--one does not much care;the cupidity of the owner defeats its object, the collector laughs, andgoes away, for he is aware that such things are by no means unique. Butthis gem I fervently desired to possess; and as I did not see my way togiving more than a hundredth part of its value, I was conscious thatall my, let us say, imaginative and diplomatic powers would have to beexerted. I am sorry to say that I came to the conclusion that I couldnot undertake to carry the matter through single-handed, and Idetermined to confide in my assistant, a young man named WilliamRobbins, whom I judged to be by no means devoid of capacity. My idea wasthat Robbins should get himself up as a low-class dealer in preciousstones; he could patter a little Italian, and would go to the town inquestion and manage to see the gem we were after, possibly by offeringsome trifling articles of jewelry for sale, but that I left to bedecided, then my work was to begin, but I will not trouble you with atale told twice over. In due course, then, Robbins went off to Italywith an assortment of uncut stones and a few rings, and some jewelry Ibought in Birmingham, on purpose for his expedition. A week later Ifollowed him, travelling leisurely, so that I was a fortnight later inarriving at our common destination. There was a decent hotel in thetown, and on my inquiring of the landlord whether there were manystrangers in the place, he told me very few; he had heard there was anEnglishman staying in a small tavern, a pedlar he said, who soldbeautiful trinkets very cheaply, and wanted to buy old rubbish. For fiveor six days I took life leisurely, and I must say I enjoyed myself. Itwas part of my plan to make the people think I was an enormously richman; and I knew that such items as the extravagance of my meals, and theprice of every bottle of wine I drank, would not be suffered, as SanchoPanza puts it, to rot in the landlord's breast. At the end of the week Iwas fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Signor Melini, theowner of the gem I coveted, at the cafe, and with his ready hospitalityand my geniality I was soon established as a friend of the house. On mythird or fourth visit I managed to make the Italians talk about theEnglish pedlar, who, they said, spoke a most detestable Italian. 'Butthat does not matter,' said the Signora Melini, 'for he has beautifulthings, which he sells very very cheap.' 'I hope you may not find he hascheated you,' I said, 'for I must tell you that English people givethese fellows a very wide berth. They usually make a great parade of thecheapness of their goods, which often turn out to be double the price ofbetter articles in the shops,' They would not hear of this, and SignoraMelini insisted on showing me the three rings and the bracelet she hadbought of the pedlar. She told me the price she had paid; and afterscrutinizing the articles carefully, I had to confess that she had madea bargain, and indeed Robbins had sold her the things at about fifty percent below market value. I admired the trinkets as I gave them back tothe lady, and I hinted that the pedlar must be a somewhat foolishspecimen of his class. Two days later, as I was taking my vermouth atthe cafe with Signor Melini, he led the conversation back to the pedlar,and mentioned casually that he had shown the man a little curiosity, forwhich he had made rather a handsome offer. 'My dear sir,' I said, 'Ihope you will be careful. I told you that the travelling tradesman doesnot bear a very high reputation in England; and notwithstanding hisapparent simplicity, this fellow may turn out to be an arrant cheat. MayI ask you what is the nature of the curiosity you have shown him?' Hetold me it was a little thing, a pretty little stone with some figurescut on it: people said it was old. 'I should like to examine it,' Ireplied; 'as it happens I have, seen a good deal of these gems. We havea fine collection of them in our museum at London.' In due course I wasshown the article, and I held the gem I so coveted between my fingers. Ilooked at it coolly, and put it down carelessly on the table. 'Would youmind telling me, signor,' I said, 'how much my fellow-countryman offeredyou for this?' 'Well,' he said, 'my wife says the man must be mad; hesaid he would give me twenty lire for it.'
"I looked at him quietly, and took up the gem and pretended to examineit in the light more carefully; I turned it over and over, and finallypulled out a magnifying glass from my pocket, and seemed to search everyline in the cutting with minutest scrutiny. 'My dear sir,' I said atlast, 'I am inclined to agree with Signora Melini. If this gem weregenuine, it would be worth some money; but as it happens to be a ratherbad forgery, it is not worth twenty centesimi. It was sophisticated, Ishould imagine, some time in the last century, and by a very unskilfulhand.' 'Then we had better get rid of it,' said Melini. 'I never thoughtit was worth anything myself. Of course I am sorry for the pedlar, butone must let a man know his own trade. I shall tell him we will take thetwenty lire.' 'Excuse me,' I said, 'the man wants a lesson. It would bea charity to give him one. Tell him that you will not take anythingunder eighty lire, and I shall be much surprised if he does not closewith you at once.
"A day or two later I heard that the English pedlar had gone away, afterdebasing the minds of the country people with Birmingham art jewelry;for I admit that the gold sleeve links like kidney beans, the silverchains made apparently after the pattern of a dog-chain, and the initialbrooches, have always been heavy on my conscience. I cannot acquitmyself of having indirectly contributed to debauch the taste of a simplefolk; but I hope that the end I had in view may finally outba
lance thisheavy charge. Soon afterwards, I paid a farewell visit at the Melinis,and the signor informed me with an oily chuckle that the plan I hadsuggested had been completely successful. I congratulated him on hisbargain, and went away after expressing a wish that heaven might sendmany such pedlars in his path.
"Nothing of interest occurred on my return journey. I had arranged thatRobbins was to meet me at a certain place on a certain day, and I wentto the appointment full of the coolest confidence; the gem had beenconquered, and I had only to reap the fruits of victory. I am sorry toshake that trust in our common human nature which I am sure you possess,but I am compelled to tell you that up to the present date I have neverset eyes on my man Robbins, or on the antique gem in his custody. I havefound out that he actually arrived in London, for he was seen threedays before my arrival in England by a pawnbroker of my acquaintanceconsuming his favorite beverage, four ale, in the tavern where we metto-night. Since then he has not been heard of. I hope you will nowpardon my curiosity as to the history and adventures of dark young menwith spectacles. You will, I am sure, feel for me in my position; thesavor of life has disappeared for me; it is a bitter thought that I haverescued one of the most perfect and exquisite specimens of antique artfrom the hands of ignorant, and indeed unscrupulous persons, only todeliver it into the keeping of a man who is evidently utterly devoid ofthe very elements of commercial morality."
"My dear sir," said Dyson, "you will allow me to compliment you on yourstyle; your adventures have interested me exceedingly. But, forgive me,you just now used the word morality; would not some persons takeexception to your own methods of business? I can conceive, myself, flawsof a moral kind being found in the very original conception you havedescribed to me. I can imagine the Puritan shrinking in dismay from yourscheme, pronouncing it unscrupulous, nay, dishonest."
Mr. Burton helped himself, very frankly, to some more whiskey.
"Your scruples entertain me," he said. "Perhaps you have not gone verydeeply into these questions of ethics. I have been compelled to do somyself, just as I was forced to master a simple system of book-keeping.Without book-keeping, and still more without a system of ethics, it isimpossible to conduct a business such as mine. But I assure you that Iam often profoundly saddened as I pass through the crowded streets andwatch the world at work by the thought of how few amongst all thesehurrying individuals, black hatted, well dressed, educated we maypresume sufficiently,--how few amongst them have any reasoned system ofmorality. Even you have not weighed the question; although you studylife and affairs, and to a certain extent penetrate the veils and masksof the comedy of man, even you judge by empty conventions, and the falsemoney which is allowed to pass current as sterling coin. Allow me toplay the part of Socrates; I shall teach you nothing that you do notknow. I shall merely lay aside the wrappings of prejudice and bad logic,and show you the real image which you possess in your soul. Come then.Do you allow that happiness is anything?"
"Certainly," said Dyson.
"And happiness is desirable or undesirable?"
"Desirable of course."
"And what shall we call the man who gives happiness? Is he not aphilanthropist?"
"I think so."
"And such a person is praiseworthy, and the more praiseworthy in theproportion of the persons whom he makes happy?"
"By all means."
"So that he who makes a whole nation happy, is praiseworthy in theextreme, and the action by which he gives happiness is the highestvirtue?"
"It appears so, O Burton," said Dyson, who found something veryexquisite in the character of his visitor.
"Quite so; you find the several conclusions inevitable. Well, apply themto the story I have told, you. I conferred happiness on myself byobtaining (as I thought) possession of the gem; I conferred happiness onthe Melinis by getting them eighty lire instead of an object for whichthey had not the slightest value, and I intended to confer happiness onthe whole British nation by selling the thing to the British Museum, tosay nothing of the happiness a profit of about nine thousand per centwould have conferred on me. I assure you I regard Robbins as aninterferer with the cosmos and fair order of things. But that isnothing; you perceive that I am an apostle of the very highest morality;you have been forced to yield to argument."
"There certainly seems a great deal in what you advance," said Dyson. "Iadmit that I am a mere amateur of ethics, while you, as you say, havebrought the most acute scrutiny to bear on these perplexed and doubtfulquestions. I can well understand your anxiety to meet the fallaciousRobbins, and I congratulate myself on the chance which has made usacquainted. But you will pardon my seeming inhospitality, I see it ishalf past eleven, and I think you mentioned a train."
"A thousand thanks, Mr. Dyson, I have just time, I see. I will look youup some evening if I may. Good-night."