Mr. Prohack

  CHAPTER XX

  THE SILENT TOWER

  The fount of riches and the Terror of the departments, clothed in thelatest pattern of sumptuous pyjamas, lay in the midst of his magnificentand spacious bed, and, with the shaded electric globe over his brow,gazed at the splendours of the vast bedroom which Eve had allotted tohim. It was full, but not too full, of the finest Directoire furniture,and the walls were covered with all manner of engravings andwatercolours. Evidently this apartment had been the lair of the realowner and creator of the great home. Mr. Prohack could appreciate thecatholicity and sureness of taste which it displayed. He liked thecornice as well as the form of the dressing-table, and the Cumberlandlandscape by C.J. Holmes as well as the large Piranesi etching of animaginary prison, which latter particularly interested him because ithappened to be an impression between two "states"--a detail which nonebut a true amateur could savour. The prison depicted was a terribleplace of torment, but it was beautiful, and the view of it made Mr.Prohack fancy, very absurdly, that he too was in prison, just assecurely as if he had been bolted and locked therein. His eye rangedabout the room and saw nothing that was not lovely and that he did notadmire. Yet he derived little or no authentic pleasure from what hebeheld, partly because it was the furnishing of a prison and partlybecause he did not own it. He had often preached against the mania forowning things, but now--and even more clearly than when he hadsermonised Paul Spinner--he perceived, and hated to perceive, thatownership was probably an essential ingredient of most enjoyments. Theman, foolishly priding himself on being a philosopher, was indeed afleshly mass of strange inconsistencies.

  More important, he was losing the assurance that he would sleep soundlythat night. He could not drag his mind off his co-heiress and hisco-heir. The sense of humiliation at being intimately connected andclassed with them would not leave him. He felt himself--absurdly onceagain--to be mysteriously associated with them in a piece of sharppractice or even of knavery. They constituted another complication ofhis existence. He wanted to disown them and never to speak to themagain, but he knew that he could not disown them. He was living ingorgeousness for the sole reason that he and they were in the same boat.

  Eve came in, opening the door cautiously at first and then rushingforward as soon as she saw that the room was not in darkness. He fearedfor an instant that she might upbraid him for deserting her. But no!Triumphant happiness sat on her forehead, and affectionate concern forhim was in her eyes. She plumped down, in her expensive radiance, on thebed by his side.

  "Well?" said he.

  "I'm so glad you decided to go to bed," said she. "You must be tired,and late nights don't suit you. I just slipped away for a minute to seeif you were all right. Are you?" She puckered her shining brow exactlyas of old, and bent and kissed him as of old. One of her best kisses.

  But the queer fellow, though touched by her attention, did not like herbeing so glad that he had gone to bed. The alleged philosopher wouldhave preferred her to express some dependence upon his manly support inwhat was for her a tremendous event.

  "I feel I shall sleep," he lied.

  "I'm sure you will, darling," she agreed. "Don't you think it's all beena terrific success?" she asked naively.

  He answered, smiling:

  "I'm dying to see _The Daily Picture_ to-morrow. I think I shall tellthe newsagent in future only to deliver it on the days when you're init."

  "Don't be silly," she said, too pleased with herself, however, to resenthis irony. She was clothed in mail that night against all his shafts.

  He admitted, what he had always secretly known, that she was anelementary creature; she would have been just as at home in the StoneAge as in the twentieth century--and perhaps more at home. (Was LadyMassulam equally elementary? No? Yes?) Still, Eve was necessary to him.

  Only, up to a short while ago, she had been his complement; whereas nowhe appeared to be her complement. He, the philosopher and the source ofdomestic wisdom, was fully aware, in a superior and lofty manner, thatshe was the eternal child deceived by toys, gewgaws, and illusions;nevertheless he was only her complement, the indispensable husband andpayer-out. She was succeeding without any brain-work from him. Henoticed that she was not wearing the pearls he had given her. No doubtshe had merely forgotten at the last moment to put them on. She wascontinually forgetting them and leaving them about. But this negligentwoman was the organiser in chief of the great soiree! Well, if it hadsucceeded, she was lucky.

  "I must run off," said she, starting up, busy, proud, falsely calm, thegeneral of a victorious army as the battle draws to a close. Sheembraced him again, and he actually felt comforted.... She was gone.

  "As I grow older," he reflected, "I'm hanged if I don't understand lifeless and less."

  * * * * *

  He was listening to the distant rhythm of the music when he mistilycomprehended that there was no music and that the sounds in his ear werenot musical. He could not believe that he had been asleep and hadawakened, but the facts were soon too much for his delusion and he saidwith the air of a discoverer: "I've been asleep," and turned on thelight.

  There were voices and footsteps in the corridors or on thelanding,--whispers, loud and yet indistinct talking, tones indicatingthat the speakers were excited, if not frightened, and that theirthoughts had been violently wrenched away from the pursuit of pleasure.His watch showed two o'clock. The party was over, the last automobilehad departed, and probably even the tireless Eliza Fiddle was asleep inher new home. Next Mr. Prohack noticed that the door of his room wasajar.

  He had no anxiety. Rather he felt quite gay and careless,--the more soas he had wakened up with the false sensation of complete refreshmentproduced by short, heavy slumber. He thought:

  "Whatever has happened, I have had and shall have nothing to do with it,and they must deal with the consequences themselves as best they can."And as a measure of precaution against being compromised, he switchedoff the light. He heard Eve's voice, surprisingly near his door:

  "I simply daren't tell him! No, I daren't!"

  The voice was considerably agitated, but he smiled maliciously tohimself, thinking:

  "It can't be anything very awful, because she only talks in that strainwhen it's nothing at all. She loves to pretend she's afraid of me. Andmoreover I don't believe there's anything on earth she daren't tell me."

  He heard another voice, reasoning in reply, that resembled Mimi's.Hadn't that girl gone home yet? And he heard Sissie's voice andCharlie's. But for him all these were inarticulate.

  Then his room was filled with swift blinding light. Somebody had put ahand through the doorway and turned the light on. It must be Eve.... Itwas Eve, scared and distressed, but still in complete war-paint.

  "I'm so relieved you're awake, Arthur," she said, approaching the bed asthough she anticipated the bed would bite her.

  "I'm not awake. I'm asleep, officially. My poor girl, you've ruined thefinest night I was ever going to have in all my life."

  She ignored his complaint, absolutely.

  "Arthur," she said, her face twitching in every direction, and all hertriumph fallen from her, "Arthur, I've lost my pearls. They're gone!Some one must have taken them!"

  Mr. Prohack's reaction to this piece of more-than-midnight news was tobreak into hearty and healthy laughter; he appeared to be genuinelydiverted; and when Eve protested against such an attitude he said:

  "My child, anything that strikes you as funny after being wakened up attwo o'clock in the morning is very funny, very funny indeed. How can Ihelp laughing?" Eve thereupon began to cry, weakly.

  "Come here, please," said he.

  And she came and sat on the bed, but how differently from the previousvisit! She was now beaten by circumstances, and she turned for aid tohis alleged more powerful mind and deeper wisdom. In addition to beingamused, the man was positively happy, because he was no longer a merecomplement! So he comforted her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

  "Don't worry," sa
id he, gently. "And after all I'm not surprised thenecklace has been pinched."

  "Not surprised? Arthur!"

  "No. You collect here half the notorious smart people in London. Fiftyper cent of them go through one or other of the Courts; five per centend by being detected criminals, and goodness knows what per cent end bybeing undetected criminals. Possibly two per cent treat marriageseriously, and possibly one per cent is not in debt. That's theatmosphere you created, and it's an atmosphere in which pearls are aptto melt away. Hence I am not surprised, and you mustn't be. Still, itwould be interesting to know _how_ the things melted away. Were youwearing them?"

  "Of course I was wearing them. There was nothing finer hereto-night--that _I_ saw."

  "You hadn't got them on when you came in here before."

  "Hadn't I?" said Eve, thoughtful.

  "No, you hadn't."

  "Then why didn't you tell me?" Eve demanded suddenly, almost fiercely,through her tears, withdrawing her shoulders from his hands.

  "Well," said Mr. Prohack. "I thought you'd know what you'd got on, orwhat you hadn't got on."

  "I think you might have told me. If you had perhaps the--"

  Mr. Prohack put his hand over her mouth.

  "Stop," said he. "My sweet child, I can save you a lot of trouble. It'sall my fault. If I hadn't been a miracle of stupidity the necklace wouldnever have disappeared. This point being agreed to, let us go on to thenext. When did you find out your sad loss?"

  "It was Miss Winstock who asked me what I'd done with my necklace. I putmy hand to my throat, and it was gone. It must have come undone."

  "Didn't you say to me a fortnight or so ago that the little safety-chainhad gone wrong?"

  "Did I?" said Eve, innocently.

  "Did you have the safety-chain repaired?"

  "I was going to have it done to-morrow. You see, if I'd sent it to bedone to-day, then I couldn't have worn the necklace to-night, could I?"

  "Very true," Mr. Prohack concurred.

  "But who could have taken it?"

  "Ah! Are you sure that it isn't lying on the floor somewhere?"

  "Every place where I've been has been searched--thoroughly. It's quitecertain that it must have been picked up and pocketed."

  "Then by a man, seeing that women have no pockets--except theirhusbands'. I'm beginning to feel quite like a detective already. By theway, lady, the notion of giving a reception in a house like this withouta detective disguised as a guest was rather grotesque."

  "But of course I had detectives!" Eve burst out. "I had two privateones. I thought one ought to be enough, but as soon as the agents sawthe inventory of knicknacks and things, they advised me to have two men.One of them's here still. In fact he's waiting to see you. The ScotlandYard people are very annoying. They've refused to do anything untilmorning."

  That Eve should have engaged detectives was something of a blow to themasculine superiority of Mr. Prohack. However, he kept himself incountenance by convincing himself in secret that she had not thought ofthe idea; the idea must have been given to her by anotherperson--probably Mimi, who nevertheless was also a woman.

  "And do you seriously expect me to interview a detective in the middleof the night?" demanded Mr. Prohack.

  "He said he should like to see you. But of course if you don't feelequal to it, my poor boy, I'll tell him so."

  "What does he want to see _me_ for? I've nothing to do with it, and Iknow nothing."

  "He says that as you bought the necklace he must see you--and the soonerthe better."

  This new aspect of the matter seemed to make Mr. Prohack ratherthoughtful.

  * * * * *

  III

  Eve brought in to her husband, who had improved his moral stamina andhis physical charm by means of the finest of his dressing-gowns, a dark,thin young man, clothed to marvellous perfection, with a much-lovedmoustache, and looking as fresh as if he was just going to a party. Mr.Prohack of course recognised him as one of the guests.

  "Good morning," said Mr. Prohack. "So _you_ are the detective."

  "Yes, sir," answered the detective, formally.

  "Do you know, all the evening I was under the impression that you wereFirst Secretary to the Czecho-Slovakian Legation."

  "No, sir," answered the detective, formally.

  "Well! Well! I think there is a proverb to the effect that appearancesare deceptive."

  "Is there indeed, sir?" said the detective, with unshaken gravity. "Inour business we think that appearances ought to be deceptive."

  "Now talking of your business," Mr. Prohack remarked with one of hisefforts to be very persuasive. "What about this unfortunate affair?"

  "Yes, sir, what about it?" The detective looked askance at Eve.

  "I suppose there's no doubt the thing's been stolen--By the way, sit onthe end of the bed, will you? Then you'll be near me."

  "Yes, sir," said the detective, sitting down. "There is no doubt thenecklace has been removed by some one, either for a nefarious purpose orfor a joke."

  "Ah! A joke?" meditated Mr. Prohack, aloud.

  "It certainly hasn't been taken for a joke," said Eve warmly. "Nobodythat I know well enough for them to play such a trick would dream ofplaying it."

  "Then," said Mr. Prohack, "we are left all alone with the nefariouspurpose. I had a sort of a notion that I should meet the nefariouspurpose, and here it is! I suppose there's little hope?"

  "Well, sir. You know what happens to a stolen pearl necklace. The pearlsare separated. They can be sold at once, one at a time, or they can bekept for years and then sold. Pearls, except the very finest, leave notrace when they get a fair start."

  "What I can't understand," Eve exclaimed, "is how it could have droppedoff without me noticing it."

  "Oh! I can easily understand that," said Mr. Prohack, with a peculiarintonation.

  "I've known ladies lose even their hair without noticing anything," saidthe detective firmly. "Not to mention other items."

  "But without anybody else noticing it either?" Eve pursued her own trainof thought.

  "Somebody did notice it," said the detective, writing on a small pieceof paper.

  "Who?"

  "The person who took the necklace."

  "Well, of course I know that," Eve spoke impatiently. "But who can itbe? I feel sure it's one of the new servants or one of the hiredwaiters."

  "In our business, madam, we usually suspect servants and waiters last."Then turning round very suddenly he demanded: "Who's that at the door?"

  Eve, startled, moved towards the door, and in the same instant thedetective put a small piece of paper into Mr. Prohack's lap, and Mr.Prohack read on the paper:

  "_Should like see you alone_." The detective picked up the paper again.Mr. Prohack laughed joyously within himself.

  "There's nobody at the door," said Eve. "How you frightened me!"

  "Marian," said Mr. Prohack, fully inspired. "Take my keys off there,will you, and go to my study and unlock the top right-hand drawer of thebig desk. You'll find a blue paper at the top at the back. Bring it tome. I don't know which is the right key, but you'll soon see."

  And when Eve, eager with her important mission, had departed, Mr.Prohack continued to the detective:

  "Pretty good that, eh, for an improvisation? The key of that drawerisn't on that ring at all. And even if she does manage to open thedrawer there's no blue paper in there at all. She'll be quite sometime."

  The detective stared at Mr. Prohack in a way to reduce his facileself-satisfaction.

  "What I wish to know from you, sir, personally, is whether you want thisaffair to be hushed up, or not."

  "Hushed up?" repeated Mr. Prohack, to whom the singular suggestionopened out new and sinister avenues of speculation. "Why hushed up?"

  "Most of the cases we deal with have to be hushed up sooner or later,"answered the detective. "I only wanted to know where I was."

  "How interesting your work must be," observed Mr. Prohack, with quick
sympathetic enthusiasm. "I expect you love it. How did you get into it?Did you serve an apprenticeship? I've often wondered about you privatedetectives. It's a marvellous life."

  "I got into it through meeting a man in the Piccadilly Tube. As forliking it, I shouldn't like any work."

  "But some people love their work."

  "So I've heard," said the detective sceptically. "Then I take it you dowant the matter smothered?"

  "But you've telephoned to Scotland Yard about it," said Mr. Prohack. "Wecan't hush it up after that."

  "I told _them_," replied the detective grimly, indicating with his headthe whole world of the house. "I told _them_ I was telephoning toScotland Yard; but I wasn't. I was telephoning to our head-office. Thenam I to take it you want to find out all you can, but you want itsmothered?"

  "Not at all. I have no reason for hushing anything up."

  The detective gazed at him in a harsh, lower-middle-class way, and Mr.Prohack quailed a little before that glance.

  "Will you please tell me where you bought the necklace?"

  "I really forget. Somewhere in Bond Street."

  "Oh! I see," said the detective. "A necklace of forty-nine pearls, overhalf of them stated to be as big as peas, and it's slipped your memorywhere you bought it." The detective yawned.

  "And I'm afraid I haven't kept the receipt either," said Mr. Prohack. "Ihave an idea the firm went out of business soon after I bought thenecklace. At least I seem to remember noticing the shop shut up and thenopening again as something else."

  "No jeweller ever goes out of business in Bond Street," said thedetective, and yawned once more. "Well, Mr. Prohack, I don't think Ineed trouble you any more to-night. If you or Mrs. Prohack will call atour head-office during the course of to-morrow you shall have ourofficial report, and if anything really fresh should turn up I'lltelephone you immediately. Good night, Mr. Prohack." The man bowedrather awkwardly as he rose from the bed, and departed.

  "That chap thinks there's something fishy between Eve and me," reflectedMr. Prohack. "I wonder whether there is!" But he was still in highspirits when Eve came back into the room.

  "The sleuth-hound has fled," said he. "I must have given him somethingto think about."

  "I've tried all the keys and none of them will fit," Eve complained."And yet you're always grumbling at me for not keeping my keys in order.If you wanted to show him the blue paper why have you let him go?"

  "My dear," said Mr. Prohack, "I didn't let him go. He did not consultme, but merely and totally went."

  "And what is the blue paper?" Eve demanded.

  "Well, supposing it was the receipt for what I paid for the pearls?"

  "Oh! I see. But how would that help?"

  "It wouldn't help," Mr. Prohack replied. "My broken butterfly, you mayas well know the worst. The sleuth-hound doesn't hold out much hope."

  "Yes," said Eve. "And you seem delighted that I've lost my pearls! Iknow what it is. You think it will be a lesson for me, and you lovepeople to have lessons. Why! Anybody might lose a necklace."

  "True. Ships are wrecked, and necklaces are lost, and Nelson even losthis eye."

  "And I'm sure it _was_ one of the servants."

  "My child, you can be just as happy without a pearl necklace as withone. You really aren't a woman who cares for vulgar display. Moreover,in times like these, when society seems to be toppling over, what is avaluable necklace, except a source of worry? Felicity is not to beattained by the--"

  Eve screamed.

  "Arthur! If you go on like that I shall run straight out of the houseand take cold in the Square."

  "I will give you another necklace," Mr. Prohack answered this threat,and as her face did not immediately clear, he added: "And a better one."

  "I don't want another one," said Eve. "I'd sooner be without one. Iknow it was all my own fault. But you're horrid, and I can't make youout, and I never could make you out. I never did know where I am withyou. And I believe you're hiding something from me. I believe you pickedup the necklace, and that's why you sent the detective away."

  Mr. Prohack had to assume his serious voice which always carriedconviction to Eve, and which he had never misused. "I haven't pickedyour necklace up. I haven't seen it. And I know nothing about it." Thenhe changed again. "And if you'll kindly step forward and kiss me goodmorning I'll try to snatch a few moments' unconsciousness."

  IV

  Mr. Prohack's life at this wonderful period of his career as apractising philosopher at grips with the great world seemed to be aseries of violent awakenings. He was awakened, with even increasedviolence, at about eight o'clock the next--or rather the same--morning,and he would have been awakened earlier if the servants had got upearlier. The characteristic desire of the servants to rise early had,however, been enfeebled by the jolly vigils of the previous night. Itwas, of course, Eve who rushed in to him--nobody else would have dared.She had hastily cast about her plumpness the transformed Chinese gown,which had the curious appearance of a survival from some formerincarnation.

  "Arthur!" she called, and positively shook the victim. "Arthur!"

  Mr. Prohack looked at her, dazed by the electric light which she hadruthlessly turned on over his head.

  "There's a woman been caught in the area. She's a fat woman, and shemust have been there all night. The cook locked the area gate and thewoman was too fat to climb over. Brool's put her in the servants' halland fastened the door, and what do you think we ought to do first? Sendfor the police or telephone to Mr. Crewd--he's the detective you sawlast night?"

  "If she's been in the area all night you'd better put her to bed, andgive her some hot brandy and water," said Mr. Prohack.

  "Arthur, please, please, be serious!" Eve supplicated.

  "I'm being as serious as a man can who has been disturbed in thispleasant fashion by a pretty woman," said Mr. Prohack attentivelyexamining the ceiling. "You go and look after the fat lady. Supposingshe died from exposure. There'd have to be an inquest. Do you wish tobe mixed up in an inquest? What does she want? Whatever it is, give ither, and let her go, and wake me up next week. I feel I can sleep abit."

  "Arthur! You'll drive me mad. Can't you see that she must be connectedwith the necklace business. She _must_ be. It's as clear as day-light!"

  "Ah!" breathed Mr. Prohack, thoughtfully interested. "I'd forgotten thenecklace business."

  "Yes, well, I hadn't!" said Eve, rather shrewishly. "I had not."

  "Quite possibly she may be mixed up in the necklace business," Mr.Prohack admitted. "She may be a clue. Look here, don't let's tellanybody outside--not even Mr. Crewd. Let's detect for ourselves. It willbe the greatest fun. What does she say for herself?"

  "She said she was waiting outside the house to catch a young lady with asnub-nose going away from my reception--Mimi Winstock, of course."

  "Why Mimi Winstock?"

  "Well, hasn't she got a turned-up nose? And she didn't go away from myreception. She's sleeping here," Eve rejoined triumphantly.

  "And what else does the fat woman say?"

  "She says she won't say anything else--except to Mimi Winstock."

  "Well, then, wake up Mimi as you wakened me, and send her to theservants' hall--wherever that is--I've never seen it myself!"

  Eve shook her somewhat tousled head vigorously.

  "Certainly not. I don't trust Miss Mimi Winstock--not one bit--and I'mnot going to let those two meet until you've had a talk with theburglar."

  "Me!" Mr. Prohack protested.

  "Yes, you. Seeing that you don't want me to send for the police.Something has to be done, and somebody has to do it. And I never didtrust that Mimi Winstock, and I'm very sorry she's gone to Charlie. Thatwas a great mistake. However, it's got nothing to do with me." Sheshrugged her agreeable shoulders. "But my necklace has got something todo with me."

  Mr. Prohack thought "What would Lady Massulam do in such a crisis? Andhow would Lady Massulam look in a dressing-gown and her hair down? Ishall never know." Meanwhile he liked Eve's dem
eanour--its vivacity andsimplicity. "I'm afraid I'm still in love with her," the strange fellowreflected, and said aloud: "You'd better kiss me. I shall have an awfulheadache if you don't." And Eve reluctantly kissed him, with the look ofa martyr on her face.

  Within a few minutes Mr. Prohack had dismissed his wife, and wasdescending the stairs in a dressing-gown which rivalled hers. The sightof him in the unknown world of the basement floor, as he searchedunaided for the servants' hall, created an immense sensation,--fargreater than he had anticipated. A nice young girl, whom he had neverseen before and as to whom he knew nothing except that she was probablyone of his menials, was so moved that she nearly had an accident with atea-tray which she was carrying.

  "What is your name?" Mr. Prohack benignly asked.

  "Selina, sir."

  "Where are you going with that tea-tray and newspaper?"

  "I was just taking it upstairs to Machin, sir. She's not feeling wellenough to get up yet, sir."

  Mr. Prohack comprehended the greatness of the height to which Machin hadascended. Machin, a parlourmaid, drinking tea in bed, and being servedby a lesser creature, who evidently regarded Machin as a person of highpower and importance on earth! Mr. Prohack saw that he was unacquaintedwith the fundamental realities of life in Manchester Square.

  "Well," said he. "You can get some more tea for Machin. Give me that."And he took the tray. "No, you can keep the newspaper."

  The paper was _The Daily Picture_. As he held the tray with one hand andgave the paper back to Selina with the other, his eye caught theheadlines: "West End Sensation. Mrs. Prohack's Pearls Pinched." Hepaled; but he was too proud a man to withdraw the paper again. No doubt_The Daily Picture_ would reach him through the customary channels afterMachin had done with it, accompanied by the usual justifications aboutthe newsboy being late; he could wait.

  "Which is the servants' hall," said he. Selina's manner changed topositive alarm as she indicated, in the dark subterranean corridor, thedoor that was locked on the prisoner. Not merely the presence of Mr.Prohack had thrilled the basement floor; there was a thrill greater eventhan that, and Mr. Prohack, by demanding the door of the servants' hallwas intensifying the thrill to the last degree. The key was on theoutside of the door, which he unlocked. Within the electric light wasstill burning in the obscure dawn.

  The prisoner, who sprang up from a chair and curtsied fearsomely at theastonishing spectacle of Mr. Prohack, was fat in a superlative degree,and her obesity gave her a middle-aged air to which she probably had noright by the almanac. She looked quite forty, and might well have beennot more than thirty. She made a typical London figure of thenondescript industrial class. It is inadequate to say that her shabbyblack-trimmed bonnet, her shabby sham-fur coat half hiding a largedubious apron, her shabby frayed black skirt, and her shabby, immense,amorphous boots,--it is inadequate to say that these things seemed tohave come immediately out of a tenth-rate pawnshop; the woman herselfseemed to have come, all of a piece with her garments, out of atenth-rate pawnshop; the entity of her was at any rate homogeneous; itsounded no discord.

  She did nothing so active as to weep, but tears, obeying the law ofgravity, oozed out of her small eyes, and ran in zigzags, unsummoned andunchecked, down her dark-red cheeks.

  "Oh, sir!" she mumbled in a wee, scarcely articulate voice. "I'm arespectable woman, so help me God!"

  "You shall be respected," said Mr. Prohack. "Sit down and drink some ofthis tea and eat the bread-and-butter.... No! I don't want you to sayanything just yet. No, nothing at all."

  When she had got the tea into the cup, she poured it into the saucer andblew on it and began to drink loudly. After two sips she plucked at apiece of bread-and-butter, conveyed it into her mouth, and before doinganything further to it, sirruped up some more tea. And in this way shewent on. Her table manners convinced Mr. Prohack that her claim torespectability was authentic.

  "And now," said Mr. Prohack, gazing through the curtained window at theblank wall that ended above him at the edge of the pavement, so as notto embarrass her, "will you tell me why you spent the night in my area?"

  "Because some one locked the gate on me, sir, while I was hiding underthe shed where the dustbins are."

  "I quite see," said Mr. Prohack, "I quite see. But why did you go downinto the area? Were you begging, or what?"

  "Me begging, sir!" she exclaimed, and ceased to cry, fortified by thetonic of aroused pride.

  "No, of course you weren't begging," said Mr. Prohack. "You may havegiven to beggars--"

  "That I have, sir." She cried again.

  "But you don't beg. I quite see. Then what?"

  "It's no use me a-trying to tell you, sir. You won't believe me." Hervoice was extraordinarily thin and weak, and seldom achieved anythingthat could fairly be called pronunciation.

  "I shall," said Mr. Prohack. "I'm a great believer. You try me. You'llsee."

  "It's like this. I was converted last night, and that's where thetrouble began, if it's the last word I ever speak."

  "Theology?" murmured Mr. Prohack, turning to look at her and marvellingat the romantic quality of basements.

  "There was a mission on at the Methodists' in Paddington Street, and inI went. Seems strange to me to be going into a Methodists', seeing asI'm so friendly with Mr. Milcher."

  "Who is Mr. Milcher?"

  "Milcher's the sexton at St. Nicodemus, sir. Or I should say sacristan.They call him sacristan instead of sexton because St. Nicodemus is High,as I daresay _you_ know, sir, living so close."

  Mr. Prohack was conscious of a slight internal shiver, which he couldnot explain, unless it might be due to a subconscious premonition ofunpleasantness to come.

  "I know that I live close to St. Nicodemus," he replied. "Very close.Too close. But I did not know how High St. Nicodemus was. However, I'minterrupting you." He perceived with satisfaction that his gift ofinspiring people with confidence was not failing him on this occasion.

  "Well, sir, as I was saying, it might, as you might say, seem strange mepopping like that into the Methodists', seeing what Milcher's views are;but my mother was a Methodist in Canonbury,--a great place fordissenters, sir, North London, you know, sir, and they do say blood'sthicker than water. So there I was, and the Mission a-going on, and assoon as ever I got inside that chapel I knew I was done in. I never feltso all-overish in all my days, and before I knew where I was I had foundsalvation. And I was so happy, you wouldn't believe. I come out of thatMethodists' as free like as if I was coming out of a hospital, and Godknows I've been in a hospital often enough for my varicose veins, in thelegs, sir. You might almost have guessed I had 'em, sir, from the kindway you told me to sit down, sir. And I was just wondering how I shouldbreak it to Milcher, sir, because me passing St. Nicodemus made me thinkof him--not as I'm not always thinking of him--and I looked up at theclock--you know it's the only 'luminated church clock in the district,sir, and the clock was just on eleven, sir, and I waited for it tostrike, sir, and it didn't strike. My feet was rooted to the spot, sir,but no, that clock didn't strike, and then all of a sudden it rushedover me about that young woman asking me all about the tower and theclock and telling me as her young man was so interested in church-towersand he wanted to go up, and would I lend her the keys of the tower-doorbecause Milcher always gives me the bunch of church-keys to keep for himwhile he goes into the Horse and Groom public-house, sir, him not caringto take church keys into a public-house. He's rather particular, sir.They are, especially when they're sacristans. It rushed over me, and Isays to myself, 'Bolsheviks,' and I thought I should have swounded, butI didn't."

  Mr. Prohack had to make an effort in order to maintain his self-control,for the mumblings of the fat lady were producing in him the mostsingular and the most disturbing sensations.

  "If there's any tea left in the pot," said he, "I think I'll have it."

  "_And_ welcome, sir," replied the fat lady. "But there's only one cup.But I have but hardly drunk out of it, sir."

  Mr. Prohack first of all w
ent to the door, transferred the key from theoutside to the inside, and locked the door. Then he drank the dregs ofthe tea out of the sole cup; and seeing a packet of Mr. Brool's GoldFlake cigarettes on the mahogany sideboard, he ventured to help himselfto one.

  "Yes, sir," resumed the fat lady. "I nearly swounded, and I couldn'tfeel happy no more until I'd made a clean breast of it all to Milcher.And I was setting off for Milcher when it struck me all of a heap as I'dpromised the young lady with the turned-up nose as I wouldn't saynothing about the keys to nobody. It was very awkward for me, sir, mebeing converted and anxious to do right, and not knowing which was rightand which was wrong. But a promise is a promise whether you're convertedor not--that I do hold. Anyhow I says to myself I must see Milcher andtell him the clock hadn't struck eleven, and I prayed as hard as I couldfor heavenly guidance, and I was just coming down the Square on my wayto Milcher's when who should I see get out of a taxi and run into thishouse but that young lady and her young man. I said in my haste that wasan answer to prayer, sir, but I'm not so sure now as I wasn't presumingtoo much. I could see there was something swanky a-going on here and Isaid to myself, 'That young lady's gone in. She'll come out again; she'sone of the gues's, she is,' I said, 'and him too, and I'll wait till shedoes come out and then I'll catch her and have it out with her even ifit means policemen.' And the area-gate being unfastened, I slipped downthe area-steps, sir, with my eye on the front-door. And that was whatdid me. I had to sit down on the stone steps, sir, because of myvaricose veins and then one of the servants comes in _from_ the street,sir, and I more like dropped down the area-steps, sir, than walked, sir,and hid between two dustbins, and when the coast was clear I went upagain and found gate locked and nothing doing. And it's as true as I'mstanding here--sitting, I should say."

  Mr. Prohack paused, collecting himself, determined to keep his nervethrough everything. Then he said:

  "When did the mysterious young lady borrow the keys from you?"

  "Last night, sir, I mean the night before last."

  "And where are the keys now?"

  "Milcher's got 'em, sir. I lay he's up in the tower by this time,a-worrying over that clock. It'll be in the papers--you see if it isn't,sir."

  "And he's got no idea that you ever lent the keys?"

  "That he has not, sir. And the question is: must I tell him?"

  "What exactly are the relations between you and Mr. Milcher?"

  "Well, sir, he's a bit dotty about me, as you might say. And he's goingto marry me. So he says, and I believe him."

  And Mr. Prohack reflected, impressed by the wonder of existence:

  "This woman too has charm for somebody, who looks on her as the mostappetising morsel on earth."

  "Now," he said aloud, "you are good enough to ask my opinion whether youought to tell Mr. Milcher. My advice to you is: Don't. I applaud yourconversion. But as you say, a promise is a promise--even if it's anaughty promise. You did wrong to promise. You will suffer for that, anddon't think your conversion will save you from suffering, because itwon't. Don't run away with the idea that conversion is apatent-medicine. It isn't. It's rather a queer thing, very handy in someways and very awkward in others, and you must use it with commonsense oryou'll get both yourself and other people into trouble. As for theclock, it's stopping striking is only a coincidence, obviously. Abandonthe word 'Bolshevik.' It's a very overworked word, and wants a longrepose. If the clock had been stopped from striking by your youngfriends it would have stopped the evening before last, when they went upthe tower. And don't imagine there's any snub-nosed young lady livinghere. There isn't. She must have left while you were down among thedustbins, Mrs. Milcher--that is to be. She paid you something for yourtrouble, quite possibly. If so, give the money to the poor. That willbe the best way to be converted."

  "So I will, sir."

  "Yes. And now you must go." He unlocked the door and opened it. "Quick.Quietly. Into the area, and up the area-steps. And stop a moment. Don'tyou be seen in the Square for at least a year. A big robbery wascommitted in this very house last night. You'll see it in to-day'spapers. My butler connected your presence in the area--and quitejustifiably connected it--with the robbery. Without knowing it you'vebeen in the most dreadful danger. I'm saving you. If you don't use yourconversion with discretion it may land you in prison. Take my advice,and be silent first and converted afterwards. Good morning. Tut-tut!" Hestopped the outflow of her alarmed gratitude. "Didn't I advise you to besilent? Creep, Mrs. Milcher. Creep!"

  V

  "Well, what have you said to her? What does she say? What have you donewith her?" questioned Eve excitedly, who had almost finished dressingwhen Mr. Prohack, gorgeously, but by no means without misgivings,entered her bedroom.

  "I've talked to her very seriously and let her go," answered Mr.Prohack.

  Eve sat down as if stabbed on the chair in front of her dressing-table,and stared at Mr. Prohack.

  "You've let her go!" cried she, with an outraged gasp, implying that shehad always suspected that she was married to a nincompoop, but not tosuch a nincompoop. "Where's she gone to?"

  "I don't know."

  "What's her name? Who is she?"

  "I don't know that either. I only know that she's engaged to be married,and that a certain sacristan is madly but I hope honourably in love withher, and that she's had nothing whatever to do with the disappearance ofyour necklace."

  "I suppose she told you so herself!" said Eve, with an irony that mighthave shrivelled up a husband less philosophic.

  "She did not. She didn't say a word about the necklace. But she did makea full confession. She's mixed up in the clock-striking business."

  "The what business?"

  "The striking of the church-clock. You know it's stopped striking sincelast night, under the wise dispensation of heaven."

  As he made this perfectly simple announcement, Mr. Prohack observed asudden change in his wife's countenance. Her brow puckered: a sad,protesting, worried look came into her eyes.

  "Please don't begin on the clock again, my poor Arthur! You ought toforget it. You know how bad it is for you to dwell on it. It gets onyour nerves and you start imagining all sorts of things, until, ofcourse, there's no chance of you sleeping. If you keep on like thisyou'll make me feel a perfect criminal for taking the house. You don'tsuspect it, but I've several times wished we never had taken it--I'vebeen so upset about your nervous condition."

  "I was merely saying," Mr. Prohack insisted, "that our fat visitor, whoapparently has enormous seductive power over sacristans, had noticedabout the clock just as I had, and she thought--"

  Eve interrupted him by approaching swiftly and putting her hands on hisshoulders, as he had put his hands on her shoulders a little whileearlier, and gazing with supplication at him.

  "Please, please!" she besought him. "To oblige me. Do drop thechurch-clock. I know what it means for you."

  Mr. Prohack turned away, broke into uproarious and somewhat hystericallaughter, and left the bedroom, having perceived to his amazement thatshe thought the church-clock was undermining his sanity.

  Going to his study, he rang the bell there, and Brool, with featurespale and drawn, obeyed the summons. The fact that his sanity wassuspect, however absurdly, somehow caused Mr. Prohack to assume apontifical manner of unusual dignity.

  "Is Miss Warburton up yet?"

  "No, sir. One of the servants knocked at her door some little time ago,but received no answer."

  "She must be wakened, and I'll write a note that must be given to herimmediately."

  Mr. Prohack wrote: "Please dress at once and come to my study. I want tosee you about the church-clock. A.P." Then he waited, alternatelyfeeling the radiator and warming his legs at the newly-lit wood fire. Hewas staggered by the incredible turn of events, and he had a sensationthat nothing was or ever would be secure in the structure of hisenvironment.

  "Well, I'm hanged! Well, I'm hanged!" he kept saying to himself, andindeed several times asserted that an even more serious f
ate hadbefallen him.

  "Here I am!" Mimi exclaimed brazenly, entering the room.

  The statement was not exaggerated. She emphatically was there, aspiringnose and all--in full evening dress, the costume of the night before.

  "Have you slept in your clothes?" Mr. Prohack demanded.

  Her manner altered at his formidable tone.

  "No, sir," she replied meekly. "But I've nothing else here. I shall puta cloak on and drive off in a taxi to change for the day. May I sitdown?"

  Mr. Prohack nodded. Indubitably she made a wonderful sight in her daringsplendour.

  "So you've found out all about it already!" said she, still meekly,while Mr. Prohack was seeking the right gambit. "Please do tell me how,"she added, disposing the folds of her short skirt about the chair.

  "I'm not here to answer questions," said Mr. Prohack. "I'm here to askthem. How did you do it? And was it you or Charlie or both of you? Whoseidea was it?"

  "It was my idea," Mimi purred. "But Mr. Charles seemed to like it. Itwas really very simple. We first of all found out about the sexton."

  "And how did you do that?"

  "Private enquiry agents, of course. Same people who were in charge herelast night. I knew of them when I was with Mr. Carrel Quire, and it wasI who introduced them to Mrs. Prohack."

  "It would be!" Mr. Prohack commented. "And then?"

  "And then when we'd discovered Mrs. Slipstone--or Miss Slipstone--"

  "Who's she?"

  "She's a rather stout charwoman who has a fascination for the sexton ofSt. Nicodemus. When I'd got her it was all plain sailing. She lent methe church keys and Mr. Charles and I went up the tower to reconnoitre."

  "But that was more than twenty-four hours before the clock ceased tostrike, and you returned the keys to her."

  "Oh! So you know that too, do you?" said Mimi blandly. "Mr. Prohack, Ihope you'll forgive me for saying that you're most frightfully clever. I_did_ give the keys back to Mrs. Slipstone a long time before the clockstopped striking, but you see, Mr. Charles had taken an impression ofthe tower key in clay, so that last night we were able to go up with anelectric torch and our own key. The clock is a very old one, and Mr.Charles removed a swivel or something--I forget what he called it, buthe seems to understand everything about every kind of machinery. Hesays it would take a tremendous long time to get another swivel, orwhatever it is, cast, even if it ever could be cast without a pattern,and that you'll be safe for at least six months, even if we don't relyon the natural slowness of the Established Church to do anything reallyactive. You see it isn't as if the clock wasn't going. It's showing thetime all right, and that will be sufficient to keep the rector and thechurch-wardens quiet. It keeps up appearances. Of course if the clockhad stopped entirely they would have had to do something.... You don'tseem very pleased, dear Mr. Prohack. We thought you'd be delighted. Wedid it all for you."

  "Did you indeed!" said Mr. Prohack ruthlessly. "And did you think of theriskiness of what you were doing? There'll be a most appalling scandal,certainly police-court proceedings, and I shall be involved, if it comesto light."

  "But it can't come to light!" Mimi exploded.

  "And yet it came to my light."

  "Yes, I expect Mr. Charles was so proud that he couldn't help tellingyou some bits about it. But nobody else can know. Even if Mrs. Slipstonelets on to the sexton, the sexton will never let on because if he didhe'd lose his place. The sexton will always have to deny that he partedwith the keys even for a moment. It will be the loveliest mystery thatever was, and all the police in the world won't solve it. Of course, ifyou aren't pleased, I'm very sorry."

  "It isn't a question of not being pleased. The breath is simply knockedout of me--that's what it is! Whatever possessed you to do it?"

  "But something had to be done, Mr. Prohack. Everybody in the house wasterribly upset about you. You couldn't sleep because of the clock, andyou said you never would sleep. Mrs. Prohack was at her wit's end."

  "Everybody in the house was terribly upset about me! This is the firstI've heard of anybody being terribly upset about me. I thought thateverybody except me had forgotten all about the infernal clock."

  "Naturally!" said Mimi, with soothing calmness. "Mrs. Prohack quiterightly forbade any mention of the clock in your presence. She said thebest thing to do was to help you to forget it by never referring to it,and we all agreed with her. But it weighed on us dreadfully. Andsomething really had to be done."

  Mr. Prohack was not unimpressed by this revelation of the existence ofa social atmosphere which he had never suspected. But he was in no moodfor compromise.

  "Now just listen to me," said he. "You are without exception the mostdangerous woman that I have ever met. All women are dangerous, but youare an acute peril."

  "Yes," Mimi admitted, "Mr. Carrel Quire used to talk like that. I gotquite used to it."

  "Did he really? Well, I think all the better of him, then. The mischiefwith you is that your motives are good. But a good motive is no excusefor a criminal act, and still less excuse for an idiotic act. I don'tsuppose I shall do any good by warning you, yet I do hereby mostsolemnly warn you to mend your ways. And I wish you to understandclearly that I am not a bit grateful to you. In fact the reverse."

  Mimi stiffened herself.

  "Perhaps you would prefer us to restore the missing part and start theclock striking again. It would be perfectly easy. We still have our ownkey to the tower and we could do it to-night. I am sure it will be atleast a week before the church-wardens send an expert clock-maker up thetower."

  In that moment Mr. Prohack had a distressing glimpse into the illogicalpeculiarities of the human conscience, especially his own. He knew thathe ought to accept Mimi's offer, since it would definitely obviate thepossible consequences of a criminal act and close a discreditableincident. But he thought of his bad nights instead of thinking of Mimi'smorals and the higher welfare of society.

  "No," he said. "Let sleeping clocks lie." And he saw that Mimi read themeanness of his soul and was silently greeting him as a fellow-sinner.

  She surprised him by saying:

  "I assure you, Mr. Prohack, that my sole idea--that our sole idea--wasto make the house more possible for you." And as she uttered these wordsshe gazed at him with a sort of delicious pouting, challenging reproach.

  What a singular remark, he thought! It implied a comprehension of thefact, which he had considerately never disclosed, that he objected tothe house _in toto_ and would have been happier in his former abode.And, curiously, it implied further that she comprehended and sympathisedwith his objections. She knew she had not done everything necessary toreconcile him to the noble mansion, but she had done what she could--andit was not negligible.

  "Nothing of the kind," said he. "You simply had no 'sole idea.' When Iadmitted just now that your motives were good I was exaggerating. Yourmotives were only half good, and if you think otherwise you aredeceiving yourself; you are not being realistic. In that respect you areno better than anybody else."

  "What was my other motive, then?" she enquired submissively, as ifappealing for information to the greatest living authority on theenigmas of her own heart.

  "Your other motive was to satisfy your damnable instinct for dubious andpicturesque adventure," said Mr. Prohack. "You were pandering to theevil in you. If you could have stopped the clock from striking bywalking down Bond Street in Mrs. Slipstone's clothes and especially herboots, would you have done it? Certainly not. Of course you wouldn't.Don't try to come the self-sacrificing saint over me, because you can'tdo it."

  These words, even if amounting to a just estimate of the situation, wereruthless and terrible. They might have accomplished some genuine andlasting good if Mr. Prohack had spoken them in a tone corresponding totheir import. But he did not. His damnable instinct for pleasing peopleonce more got the better of him, and he spoke them in a benevolent andpaternal tone, his voice vibrating with compassion and with appreciationof her damnable instinct for dubious and picturesque adv
enture. The tonedestroyed the significance of the words.

  Moreover, not content with the falsifying tone, he rose up from hischair as he spoke, approached the charming and naughty girl, and pattedher on the shoulder. The rebuke, indeed, ended by being more agreeableto the sinner than praise might have been from a man less corroded withduplicity than Mr. Prohack.

  Mimi surprised him a second time.

  "You're perfectly right," she said. "You always are." And she seized hislimp hand in hers and kissed it,--and ran away, leaving him looking atthe kissed hand.

  Well, he was flattered, and he was pleased; or at any rate something inhim, some fragmentary part of him, was flattered and pleased. Mimi'sgesture was a triumph for a man nearing fifty; but it was an alarmingtriumph.... Odd that in that moment he should think of Lady Massulam!His fatal charm was as a razor. Had he been playing with it as a babymight play with a razor?... Popinjay? Coxcomb? Perhaps, Nevertheless,the wench had artistically kissed his hand, and his hand feltself-complacent, even if he didn't.

  Brool, towards whom Mr. Prohack felt no impulse of good-will, camelargely in with a salver on which were the morning letters and themorning papers, including the paper perused by Machin with her earlybedside tea and doubtless carefully folded again in its original creasesto look virginal.

  The reappearance of that sheet had somewhat the quality of a sinistermiracle to Mr. Prohack. He asked no questions about it so that he mightbe told no lies, but he searched it in vain for a trace of the sufferingMachin. It was, however, full of typographical traces of himself and hisfamily. The description of the reception was disturbingly journalistic,which adjective, for Mr. Prohack, unfortunately connoted the adjectivevulgar. All the wrong people were in the list of guests, and all thedecent quiet people were omitted. A value of twenty thousand pounds wasput upon the necklace, contradicting another part of the report whichstated the pearls to be "priceless." Mr. Prohack's fortune was referredto; also his Treasury past; the implication being that the fortune hadcaused him to leave the Treasury. His daughter's engagement to Mr.Morfey was glanced at; and it was remarked that Mr. Morfey--"known toall his friends and half London as 'Ozzie' Morfey"--was intimatelyconnected with the greatest stage Napoleon in history, Mr. Asprey Chown.Finally a few words were given to Charlie; who was dubbed "a buddingfinancier already responsible for one highly successful _coup_ andlikely to be responsible for several others before much more water hasrun under the bridges of the Thames."

  Mr. Prohack knew, then, in his limbs the meaning of the word "writhe,"and he was glad that he had not had his bath, because even if he had hadhis bath he would have needed another one. His attitude towards hisfellow men had a touch of embittered and cynical scorn unworthy of aphilosopher. He turned, in another paper, to the financial column, for,though all his money was safe in fixed-interest-bearing securities, thefluctuations of whose capital value could not affect his safety, yet hesomehow could not remain quite indifferent to the fluctuations of theircapital value; and in the financial column he saw a reference to a"young operator," who, he was convinced, could be no other than Charlie;in the reference there was a note of sarcasm which hurt Mr. Prohack andaroused anew his apprehensions.

  And among his correspondence was a letter which had been delivered byhand. He thought he knew the handwriting on the envelope, and he did: itwas from Mr. Softly Bishop. Mr. Softly Bishop begged, in a very familiarstyle, that Mr. Prohack and wife would join himself and Miss Fancy on anearly day at a little luncheon party, and he announced that the 'highlydesirable event to the possibility of which he had alluded' on theprevious evening, had duly occurred. Strange, the fellow's eagerness topublish his engagement to a person of more notoriety than distinction!The fellow must have "popped the question" while escorting Miss Fancyhome in the middle of the night, and he must have written the notebefore breakfast and despatched it by special messenger. What amentality!

  Mr. Prohack desired now a whole series of baths. And he was veryharassed indeed. If he, by a fluke, had discovered the escapade of thechurch-tower and the church-clock, why should not others discover it byother flukes? Was it conceivable that such a matter should foreverremain a secret? The thing, to Mr. Prohack's sick imagination, was likea bomb with a fuse attached and the fuse lighted. When the bomb did gooff, what trouble for an entirely innocent Mr. Prohack! And he loathedthe notion of his proud, strong daughter being affianced to a man who,however excellent intrinsically, was the myrmidon of that sublimeshowman, Mr. Asprey Chown. And he hated his connection with Mr. SoftlyBishop and with Miss Fancy. Could he refuse the invitation to the littleluncheon party? He knew that he could not refuse it. His connection withthese persons was indisputable and the social consequences of it couldnot be fairly avoided. As for the matter of the necklace, he held thathe could deal with that,--but could he? He lacked confidence in himself.Even his fixed interest-bearing securities might, by some inconceivableworld-catastrophe, cease to bear interest, and then where would he be?

  Philosophy! Philosophy was absurdly unpractical. Philosophy could notcope with real situations. Where had he sinned? Nowhere. He had takenDr. Veiga's advice and given up trying to fit his environment to himselfinstead of vice versa. He had let things rip and shown no egotisticconcern in the business of others. But was he any better off in hissecret soul? Not a whit. He ought to have been happy; he was miserable.On every hand the horizon was dark, and the glitter of seventeenthousand pounds per annum did not lighten it by the illuminative powerof a single candle.... But his feverish hand gratefully rememberedMimi's kiss.

  VI

  Nevertheless, as the day waxed and began to wane, it was obvious even toMr. Prohack that the domestic climate grew sunnier and more bracing. Aweight seemed to have been lifted from the hearts of all Mr. Prohack'sentourage. The theft of the twenty thousand pound necklace was a graveevent, but it could not impair the beauty of the great fact that thechurch-clock had ceased to strike, and that therefore the master wouldbe able to sleep. The shadow of a menacing calamity had passed, andeverybody's spirits, except Mr. Prohack's, reacted to the news; Machin,restored to duty, was gaiety itself; but Mr. Prohack, unresponsive, kepton absurdly questioning his soul and the universe: "What am I gettingout of life? Can it be true that I am incapable of arranging myexistence in such a manner that the worm shall not feed so gluttonouslyon my damask cheek?"

  Eve's attitude to him altered. In view of the persistent silence of theclock she had to admit to herself that her husband was still a long wayoff insanity, and she was ashamed of her suspicion and did all that shecould to make compensation to him, while imitating his discreet exampleand not referring even distantly to the clock. When she mentioned thenecklace, suggesting a direct appeal to Scotland Yard, and hediscountenanced the scheme, she at once in the most charming wayaccepted his verdict and praised his superior wisdom. When he placedbefore her the invitation from Mr. Softly Bishop, she beautifullyoffered to disentangle him from it if he should so desire. When she toldhim that she had been asked to preside over the Social AmenitiesCommittee of the League of all the Arts, and he advised her not to bindherself by taking any official position, and especially one which wouldforce her into contact with a pack of self-seeking snobbish women, shebeamed acquiescence and heartily concurred with him about the pack ofwomen. In fact the afternoon became one of those afternoons on whichevery caprice was permitted to Mr. Prohack and he could do no wrong. Butthe worm still fed on his cheek.

  Before tea he enjoyed a sleep, without having to time his repose so asto avoid being wakened by the clock. And then tea for one was servedwith full pomp in his study. This meant either that his tireless womenwere out, or that Eve had judged it prudent to indulge him in a solitarytea; and, after the hurried thick-cupped teas at the Treasury, hecertainly did not dislike a leisurely tea replete with every luxuryproper to the repast. He ate, drank, and read odd things in odd cornersof _The Times_, and at last he smoked.

  He was on the edge of felicity in his miserableness when hisindefatigable women entered, all smiles.
They had indeed been out, andthey were still arrayed for the street. One by one they removed or castaside such things as gloves, hats, coats, bags, until the study began tobear some resemblance to a boudoir. Mr. Prohack, though cheerfullygrumbling at this, really liked it, for he was of those who think thatnothing furnishes a room so well as a woman's hat, provided it be notpermanently established.

  Sissie even took off one shoe, on the plea that it hurt her, and therethe trifling article lay, fragile, gleaming and absurd. Mr. Prohackappreciated it even more than the hats. He understood, perhaps betterthan ever before, that though he had a vast passion for his wife, therewas enough emotion left in him to nourish an affection almost equallyvast for his daughter. She was a proud piece, was that girl, and he wasintensely proud of her. Nor did a realistic estimate of her faults ofcharacter seem in the least to diminish his pride in her. She haddistinction; she had race. Mimi might possibly be able to make ringsround her in the pursuit of any practical enterprise, but her meremanner of existing from moment to moment was superior to Mimi's. Thesimple-minded parent was indeed convinced at heart that the world heldno finer young woman than Sissie Prohack. He reflected withsatisfaction: "She knows I'm old, but there's something young in me thatforces her to treat me as young; and moreover she adores me." He alsoreflected: "Of course they're after something, these two. I can see aput-up job in their eyes." Ah! He was ready for them, and the sensationof being ready for them was like a tonic to him, raising him momentarilyabove misery.

  "You look much better, Arthur," said Eve, artfully preparing.

  "I am," said he. "I've had a bath."

  "Had you given up baths, dad?" asked Sissie, with a curl of the lips.

  "No! But I mean I've had two baths. One in water and the other inresignation."

  "How dull!"

  "I've been thinking about the arrangements for the wedding," Eve startedin a new, falsely careless tone, ignoring the badinage between herhusband and daughter, which she always privately regarded as tedious.

  There it was! They had come to worry him about the wedding. He had notrecovered from one social martyrdom before they were plotting to pushhim into another. They were implacable, insatiable, were his women. Hegot up and walked about.

  "Now, dad," Sissie addressed him. "Don't pretend you aren't interested."And then she burst into the most extraordinary laughter--laughter thatbordered on the hysterical--and twirled herself round on the shod foot.Her behaviour offended Eve.

  "Of course if you're going on like that, Sissie, I warn you I shall giveit all up. After all, it won't be my wedding."

  Sissie clasped her mother's neck.

  "Don't be foolish, you silly old mater. It's a wedding, not a funeral."

  "Well, what about it?" asked Mr. Prohack, sniffing with pleasure the newatmosphere created in his magnificent study by these feminine contacts.

  "Do you think we'd better have the wedding at St. George's, HanoverSquare, or at St. Nicodemus's?"

  At the name of Nicodemus, Mr. Prohack started, as it were guiltily.

  "Because," Eve continued, "we can have it at either place. You see Ozzielives in one parish and Sissie in the other. St. Nicodemus has beengetting rather fashionable lately, I'm told."

  "What saith the bride?"

  "Oh, don't ask me!" answered Sissie lightly. "I'm prepared for anything.It's mother's affair, not mine, in spite of what she says. And nobodyshall be able to say after I'm married that I wasn't a dutiful daughter.I should love St. George's and I should love St. Nicodemus's too." Andthen she exploded again into disconcerting laughter, and the fit lastedlonger than the first one.

  Eve protested again and Sissie made peace again.

  "St. Nicodemus would be more original," said Eve.

  "Not so original as you," said Mr. Prohack.

  Sissie choked on a lace handkerchief. St. Nicodemus was selected for theaugust rite. Similar phenomena occurred when Eve introduced the pointwhether the reception should be at Manchester Square or at Claridge'sHotel. And when Eve suggested that it might be well to enliven themournfulness of a wedding with an orchestra and dancing, Sissie leapedup and seizing her father's hand whizzed him dangerously round the roomto a tuna of her own singing. The girl's mere physical force amazed himThe dance was brought to a conclusion by the overturning of anoccasional table and a Tanagra figure. Whereupon Sissie laughed moreloudly and hysterically than ever.

  Mr. Prohack deemed that masculine tact should be applied. He soothed theoutraged mother and tranquillised the ecstatic daughter, and then in amatter-of-fact voice asked: "And what about the date? Do let's get itover."

  "We must consult Ozzie," said the pacified mamma.

  Off went Sissie again into shrieks.

  "You needn't," she spluttered. "It's not Ozzie's wedding. It's mine. Youfix your own date, dearest, and leave Ozzie to me, Ozzie's only functionat my wedding is to be indispensable." And still laughing in the mostcrude and shocking way she ran on her uneven feet out of the room,leaving the shoe behind on the hearth-rug to prove that she reallyexisted and was not a hallucination.

  "I can't make out what's the matter with that girl," said Eve.

  "The sooner she's married the better," said Mr. Prohack, thoroughlyreconciled now to the tedium of the ceremonies.

  "I daresay you're right. But upon my word I don't know what girls arecoming to," said Eve.

  "Nobody ever did know that," said Mr. Prohack easily, though he also wasfar from easy in his mind about the bridal symptoms.

  VII

  "Can Charlie speak to you for a minute?" The voice was Eve's,diplomatic, apologetic. Her smiling and yet serious face, peeping inthrough the bedroom door, seemed to say: "I know we're asking a greatfavour and that your life is hard."

  "All right," said Mr. Prohack, as a gracious, long-suffering autocrat,without moving his eyes from the book he was reading.

  He had gone to bed. He had of late got into the habit of going to bed.He would go to bed on the slightest excuse, and would justify himself bypointing out that Voltaire used to do the same. He was capable of goingto bed several times a day. It was early evening. The bed, though hiredfor a year only, was of extreme comfortableness. The light over his headwas in exactly the right place. The room was warm. The book, by a RomanEmperor popularly known as Marcus Aurelius, counted among the world'smasterpieces. It was designed to suit the case of Mr. Prohack, for itsmessage was to the effect that happiness and content are commoditieswhich can be manufactured only in the mind, from the mind's owningredients, and that if the mind works properly no external phenomenacan prevent the manufacture of the said commodities. In short,everything was calculated to secure Mr. Prohack's felicity in thatmoment. But he would not have it. He said to himself: "This book is allvery fine, immortal, supreme, and so on. Only it simply isn't true.Human nature won't work the way this book says it ought to work; andwhat's more the author was obviously afraid of life, he was neverreally alive and he was never happy. Finally the tendency of the book ismischievously anti-social." Thus did Mr. Prohack seek to destroy areputation of many centuries and to deny opinions which he himself hadbeen expressing for many years.

  "I don't want to live wholly in myself," said Mr. Prohack. "I want tolive a great deal in other people. If you do that you may be infernallymiserable but at least you aren't dull. Marcus Aurelius was more like apotato than I should care to be."

  And he shoved the book under the pillow, turned half-over from his sideto the flat of his back, and prepared with gusto for the evil whichCharlie would surely bring. And indeed one glance at Charlie'spreoccupied features confirmed his prevision.

  "You're in trouble, my lad," said he.

  "I am," said Charlie.

  "And the hour has struck when you want your effete father's help," Mr.Prohack smiled benevolently.

  "Put it like that," said Charlie amiably, taking a chair and smoothingout his trousers.

  "I suppose you've seen the references to yourself in the papers?"

  "Yes."

  "Rather
sarcastic, aren't they?"

  "Yes. But that rather flatters me, you know, dad. Shows I'm being takennotice of."

  "Still, you _have_ been playing a dangerous game, haven't you?"

  "Admitted," said Charlie, brightly and modestly. "But I was reading inone of my new books that it is not a bad scheme to live dangerously, andI quite agree. Anyhow it suits me. And it's quite on the cards that Imay pull through."

  "You mean if I help you. Now listen to me, Charlie. I'm your father, andif you're on earth it's my fault, and everything that happens to you ismy fault. Hence I'm ready to help you as far as I can, which is a longway, but I'm not ready to throw my money into a pit unless you can proveto my hard Treasury mind that the pit is not too deep and has a firmunbreakable bottom. Rather than have anything to do with a pit that hasall attractive qualities except a bottom, I would prefer to see you inthe Bankruptcy Court and make you an allowance for life."

  "That's absolutely sound," Charlie concurred with beautifulacquiescence. "And it's awfully decent of you to talk like this. Iexpect I could soon prove to you that my pit is the sort of pit youwouldn't mind throwing things into, and possibly one day I might askyou to do some throwing. But I'm getting along pretty well so far asmoney is concerned. I've come to ask you for something else."

  "Oh!" Mr. Prohack was a little dashed. But Charlie's demeanour was soingratiating that he did not feel in the least hurt.

  "Yes. There's been some trouble between Mimi and me this afternoon, andI'm hoping that you'll straighten it out for me."

  "Ah!" Mr. Prohack's interest became suddenly intense and pleasurable.

  "The silly girl's given me notice. She's fearfully hurt because you toldher that I told you about the church-clock affair, after it had beenagreed between her and me that we wouldn't let on to anybody at all. Shesays that she can't possibly stay with anybody who isn't loyal, and thatI'm not the man she thought I was, and she's given notice!... And Ican't do without that girl! I knew she'd be perfectly invaluable to me,and she is."

  Mr. Prohack was staggered at this revelation concerning Mimi. It seemedto make her heroic and even more incalculable.

  "But _I_ never told her you'd told me anything about the clock-strikingbusiness!" he exclaimed.

  "I felt sure you hadn't," said Charlie, blandly. "I wonder how she gotthe idea into her head."

  "Now I come to think of it," said Mr. Prohack, "she did assume thismorning that you must have told me about the clock, and I didn'tcontradict her. Why should I!"

  "Just so," Charlie smiled faintly. "But I'd be awfully obliged if you'dcontradict her now. One word from you will put it all right."

  "I'll ask her to come and see me first thing in the morning," said Mr.Prohack. "But would you believe it, my lad, that she never gave me theslightest sign this morning that your telling me anything about theclock would upset her. Not the slightest sign!"

  "Oh! She wouldn't!" said Charlie. "She's like that. She's the strangestmixture of reserve and rashness you ever saw."

  "No, she isn't. Because they're all the strangest mixture--except ofcourse your esteemed mother, who we all agree is perfect. Anything elseI can do for you to-night?"

  "You might tell me how you _did_ find out about the church-clock."

  "With pleasure. The explanation will surprise you. I found out becausein my old-world way I'm jolly clever. And that's all there is to it."

  "Good night, dad. Thanks very much."

  After Charlie had gone, Mr. Prohack said to himself: "That boy's gettingon. I can remember the time when he would have come snorting in herefull of his grievance, and been very sarcastic when I offered him moneyhe didn't want. What a change! Oh, yes, he's getting on all right. He'llcome through."

  And Mr. Prohack was suddenly much fonder of the boy and more inclined tosee in him the possibility of genius. But he was aware of apprehensionas to the relations forming between his son and Mimi. That girl appearedto be establishing an empire over the great youthful prodigy of finance.Was this desirable?... No, that was not the question. The question was:Would Eve regard it as desirable? He could never explain to his wife howdeeply he had been touched by Mimi's mad solicitude for the slumber ofCharlie's father. And even if he could have explained Eve would neverhave consented to understand.