Denry the Audacious

  Near to a sofa Denry saw a pile of yellow linen things. He picked upthe topmost article, and it assumed the form of a chair. Yes, thesearticles were furniture-covers. The Hall, then, was to be shut up. Heargued from the furniture-covers that somebody must enter sooner orlater to put the covers on the furniture.

  Then he did a few more furlongs up and down the vista, and sat down atthe far end, under a window. Anyhow, there were always the windows.High though they were from the floor, he could easily open one, springout, and slip unostentatiously away. But he thought he would wait untildusk fell. Prudence is seldom misplaced. The windows, however, held adisappointment for him. A simple bar, pad-locked, prevented each one ofthem from being opened; it was a simple device. He would be under thenecessity of breaking a plate-glass pane. For this enterprise hethought he would wait until black night. He sat down again. Then hemade a fresh and noisy assault on all the doors. No result! He satdown a third time and gazed into the gardens where the shadows werecreeping darkly. Not a soul in the gardens! Then he felt a draught onthe crown of his head, and looking aloft he saw that the summit of thewindow had a transverse glazed flap, for ventilation, and that this flaphad been left open. If he could have climbed up, he might have fallenout on the other side into the gardens and liberty. But the summit ofthe window was at least sixteen feet from the floor.

  Night descended.

  IV

  At a vague hour in the evening a stout woman dressed in black, with ablack apron, a neat violet cap on her head, and a small lamp in herpodgy hand, unlocked one of the doors giving entry to the state rooms.She was on her nightly round of inspection. The autumn moon, nearly atfull, had risen and was shining into the great windows. And in front ofthe furthest window she perceived in the radiance of the moonshine apyramidal group somewhat in the style of a family of acrobatsdangerously arranged on the stage of a music-hall. The base of thepyramid comprised two settees; upon these were several arm-chairs laidflat, and on the armchairs two tables covered with cushions and rugs;lastly, in the way of inanimate nature, two gilt chairs. On the giltchairs was something that unmistakably moved and was fumbling with thetop of the window. Being a stout woman with a tranquil and sagaciousmind, her first act was not to drop the lamp. She courageously clung tothe lamp.

  "Who 's there?" said a voice from the apex of the pyramid.

  Then a subsidence began, followed by a crash and a multitudinoussplintering of glass. The living form dropped on to one of the settees,rebounding like a football from its powerful springs. There was a holeas big as a coffin in the window. The living form collected itself, andthen jumped wildly through that hole into the gardens.

  Denry ran. The moment had not struck him as a moment propitious forexplanation. In a flash he had seen the ridiculousness of endeavouringto convince a stout lady in black that he was a gentleman paying a callon the Countess. He simply scrambled to his legs and ran. He ranaimlessly in the darkness and sprawled over a hedge, after crossingvarious flower-beds. Then he saw the sheen of the moon on Sneyd Lake,and he could take his bearings. In winter all the Five Towns skate onSneyd Lake if the ice will bear, and the geography of it was quitefamiliar to Denry. He skirted its east bank, plunged into Great Shendonwood, and emerged near Great Shendon Station, on the line from Staffordto Knype. He inquired for the next train in the tones of innocency, andin half an hour was passing through Sneyd Station itself. In anotherfifty minutes he was at home. The clock showed ten-fifteen. Hismother's cottage seemed amazingly small. He said that he had beendetained in Hanbridge on business, that he had had neither tea norsupper, and that he was hungry. Next morning he could scarcely be surethat his visit to Sneyd Hall was not a dream. In any event, it had beena complete and foolish failure.

  V

  It was on this untriumphant morning that one of the tenants under hiscontrol, calling at the cottage to pay some rent overdue, asked him whenthe Universal Thrift Club was going to commence its operations. He hadtalked of the enterprise to all his tenants, for it was precisely withhis tenants that he hoped to make a beginning. He had there a_clientele_ ready to his hand, and as he was intimately acquainted withthe circumstances of each, he could judge between those who would bereliable and those to whom he would be obliged to refuse membership.The tenants, conclaving together of an evening on doorsteps, had come tothe conclusion that the Universal Thrift Club was the very contrivancewhich they had lacked for years. They saw in it a cure for all theireconomic ills and the gate to paradise. The dame who put the questionto him on the morning after his defeat wanted to be the possessor ofcarpets, a new teapot, a silver brooch, and a cookery book; and she wasevidently depending upon Denry. On consideration he saw no reason whythe Universal Thrift Club should not be allowed to start itself by theimpetus of its own intrinsic excellence. The dame was inscribed forthree shares, paid eighteen pence entrance fee, undertook to pay threeshillings a week, and received a document entitling her to spend L3 18s.in sixty-five shops as soon as she had paid L1 19s. to Denry. It was amarvellous scheme. The rumour of it spread; before dinner Denry hadvisits from other aspirants to membership, and he had posted a cheque toBostocks', but more from ostentation than necessity; for no member couldpossibly go into Bostocks' with his coupons until at least two monthshad elapsed.

  But immediately after dinner, when the posters of the early edition ofthe _Signal_ waved in the streets, he had material for other thought. Hesaw a poster as he was walking across to his office. The awful legendran: "Astounding attempted burglary at Sneyd Hall." In buying the paperhe was afflicted with a kind of ague. And the description of events atSneyd Hall was enough to give ague to a negro. The account had beentaken from the lips of Mrs. Gater, housekeeper at Sneyd Hall. She hadrelated to a reporter how, upon going into the state suite beforeretiring for the night, she had surprised a burglar of Herculeanphysique and Titanic proportions. Fortunately she knew her duty and didnot blench. The burglar had threatened her with a revolver and then,finding such bluff futile, had deliberately jumped through a largeplate-glass window and vanished. Mrs. Gater could not conceive how thefellow had "effected an entrance." (According to the reporter, Mrs.Gater said "effected an entrance," not "got in." And here it may bementioned that in the columns of the _Signal_ burglars never get into aresidence; without exception they invariably effect an entrance.) Mrs.Gater explained further how the plans of the burglar must have been laidwith the most diabolic skill; how he must have studied the daily life ofthe Hall patiently for weeks, if not months; how he must have known thehabits and plans of every soul in the place, and the exact instant atwhich the Countess had arranged to drive to Stafford to catch the Londonexpress.

  It appeared that save for four maidservants, a page, two dogs, threegardeners, and the kitchen-clerk, Mrs. Gater was alone in the Hall.During the late afternoon and early evening they had all been to assistat a rat-catching in the stables, and the burglar must have been awareof this. It passed Mrs. Gater's comprehension how the criminal had gotclear away out of the gardens and park, for to set up a hue and cry hadbeen with her the work of a moment. She could not be sure whether he hadtaken any valuable property, but the inventory was being checked.Though surely for her an inventory was scarcely necessary, as she hadbeen housekeeper at Sneyd Hall for six-and-twenty years, and might besaid to know the entire contents of the mansion by heart. The policewere at work. They had studied footprints and _debris_. There was talkof obtaining detectives from London. Up to the time of going to pressno clue had been discovered, but Mrs. Gater was confident that a cluewould be discovered, and of her ability to recognise the burglar when heshould be caught. His features, as seen in the moonlight, wereimprinted on her mind for ever. He was a young man, well dressed. TheEarl had telegraphed offering a reward of L20 for the fellow's capture.A warrant was out.

  So it ran on.

  Denry saw clearly all the errors of tact which he had committed on theprevi
ous day. He ought not to have entered uninvited. But havingentered, he ought to have held firm in quiet dignity until thehousekeeper came, and then he ought to have gone into full details withthe housekeeper, producing his credentials and showing her unmistakablythat he was offended by the experience which somebody's grosscarelessness had forced upon him.

  Instead of all that, he had behaved with simple stupidity, and theresult was that a price was upon his head. Far from acquiring moralimpressiveness and influential aid by his journey to Sneyd Hall, he hadutterly ruined himself as a founder of a Universal Thrift Club. Youcannot conduct a thrift club from prison, and a sentence of ten yearsdoes not inspire confidence in the ignorant mob. He trembled at thethought of what would happen when the police learned from the Countessthat a man with a card on which was the name of Machin had called atSneyd just before her departure.

  However, the police never did learn this from the Countess (who had goneto Rome for the autumn). It appeared that her maid had merely said tothe Countess that "a man" had called, and also that the maid had lostthe card. Careful research showed that the burglar had been disturbedbefore he had had opportunity to burgle. And the affair, after raisinga terrific pother in the district, died down.

  Then it was that an article appeared in the _Signal_, signed by Denry,and giving a full picturesque description of the state apartments atSneyd Hall. He had formed a habit of occasional contributions to the_Signal_. This article began:

  "The recent sensational burglary at Sneyd Hall has drawn attention to the magnificent state apartments of that unique mansion. As very few but the personal friends of the family are allowed a glimpse of these historic rooms, they being of course quite closed to the public, we have thought that some account of them might interest the readers of the _Signal_. On the occasion of our last visit..." etc.

  He left out nothing of their splendour.

  The article was quoted as far as Birmingham in the _Midland Press_.People recalled Denry's famous waltz with the Countess at the memorabledance in Bursley Town Hall. And they were bound to assume that therelations thus begun had been more or less maintained. They were struckby Denry's amazing discreet self-denial in never boasting of them.Denry rose in the market of popular esteem. Talking of Denry, peopletalked of the Universal Thrift Club, which went quietly ahead, and theyadmitted that Denry was of the stuff which succeeds and deserves tosucceed.

  But only Denry himself could appreciate fully how great Denry was, tohave snatched such a wondrous victory out of such a humiliating defeat!

  His chin slowly disappeared from view under a quite presentable beard.But whether the beard was encouraged out of respect for his mother'ssage advice or with the object of putting the housekeeper of Sneyd Halloff the scent if she should chance to meet Denry, who shall say?

  CHAPTER VII. THE RESCUER OF DAMES

  I

  It next happened that Denry began to suffer from the ravages of a maladywhich is almost worse than failure--namely, a surfeit of success. Thesuccess was that of his Universal Thrift Club. This device, by whichmembers after subscribing one pound in weekly instalments could at onceget two pounds' worth of goods at nearly any large shop in the district,appealed with enormous force to the democracy of the Five Towns. Therewas no need whatever for Denry to spend money on advertising. The firstmembers of the Club did all the advertising and made no charge for doingit. A stream of people anxious to deposit money with Denry in exchangefor a card never ceased to flow into his little office in St. Luke'sSquare. The stream, indeed, constantly thickened. It was a wonderfulinvention, the Universal Thrift Club. And Denry ought to have beenhappy, especially as his beard was growing strongly and evenly, andgiving him the desired air of a man of wisdom and stability. But he wasnot happy. And the reason was that the popularity of the Thrift Clubnecessitated much book-keeping, and he hated book-keeping.

  He was an adventurer, in the old honest sense, and no clerk. And hefound himself obliged not merely to buy large books of account, but tofill them with figures; and to do addition sums from page to page; andto fill up hundreds of cards; and to write out lists of shops, and tohave long interviews with printers whose proofs made him dream oflunatic asylums; and to reckon innumerable piles of small coins; and toassist his small office-boy in the great task of licking envelopes andstamps. Moreover, he was worried by shopkeepers; every shopkeeper inthe district now wanted to allow him twopence in the shilling on thepurchases of Club members. And he had to collect all the subscriptions,in addition to his rents; and also to make personal preliminaryinquiries as to the reputation of intending members. If he could haverisen every day at 4 A.M. and stayed up working every night till 4 A.M.he might have got through most of the labour. He did as a fact comevery near to this ideal. So near that one morning his mother said tohim, at her driest:

  "I suppose I may as well sell your bedstead, Denry?"

  And there was no hope of improvement; instead of decreasing the workmultiplied.

  What saved him was the fortunate death of Lawyer Lawton. The agedsolicitor's death put the town into mourning and hung the church withblack. But Denry as a citizen bravely bore the blow because he was ableto secure the services of Penkethman, Lawyer Lawton's eldest clerk, who,after keeping the Lawton books and writing the Lawton letters forthirty-five years, was dismissed by young Lawton for being over fiftyand behind the times. The desiccated bachelor was grateful to Denry.He called Denry "sir." Or rather he called Denry's suit of clothes"sir," for he had a vast respect for a well-cut suit. On the otherhand, he maltreated the little office-boy, for he had always beenaccustomed to maltreating little office-boys, not seriously, but justenough to give them an interest in life. Penkethman enjoyed desks,ledgers, pens, ink, rulers, and blotting-paper. He could run from bottomto top of a column of figures more quickly than the fire-engine couldrun up Oldcastle Street; and his totals were never wrong. His gesturewith a piece of blotting-paper as he blotted off a total wasmagnificent. He liked long hours; he was thoroughly used to overtime,and his boredom in his lodgings was such that he would often arrive atthe office before the appointed hour. He asked thirty shillings a week,and Denry in a mood of generosity gave him thirty-one. He gave Denryhis whole life, and put a meticulous order into the establishment.Denry secretly thought him a miracle, but up at the Club at Porthill hewas content to call him "the human machine." "I wind him up everySaturday night with a sovereign, half a sovereign, and a shilling," saidDenry, "and he goes for a week. Compensated balance adjusted for alltemperatures. No escapement. Jewelled in every hole. Ticks in anyposition. Made in England."

  This jocularity of Denry's was a symptom that Denry's spirits wererising. The bearded youth was seen oftener in the streets behind hismule and his dog. The adventurer had, indeed, taken to the road again.After an emaciating period he began once more to stouten. He was theimage of success. He was the picturesque card, whom everybody knew andeverybody had pleasure in greeting. In some sort he was rather like theflag on the Town Hall.

  And then a graver misfortune threatened.

  It arose out of the fact that, though Denry was a financial genius, hewas in no sense qualified to be a Fellow of the Institute of CharteredAccountants. The notion that an excess of prosperity may bring ruin hadnever presented itself to him, until one day he discovered that out ofover two thousand pounds there remained less than six hundred to hiscredit at the bank. This was at the stage of the Thrift Club when thefounder of the Thrift Club was bound under the rules to give credit.When the original lady member had paid in her L2 or so, she was entitledto spend L4 or so at shops. She did spend L4 or so at shops. And Denryhad to pay the shops. He was thus temporarily nearly L2 out of pocket,and he had to collect that sum by trifling instalments. Multiply thiscase by five hundred, and you will understand the drain on Denry'scapital. Multiply it by a thousand, and you will understand the veryserious peril which overhung Denry. Multiply it by fifteen
hundred andyou will understand that Denry had been culpably silly to inaugurate amighty scheme like the Universal Thrift Club on a paltry capital of twothousand pounds. He had. In his simplicity he had regarded two thousandpounds as boundless wealth.

  Although new subscriptions poured in, the drain grew more distressing.Yet he could not persuade himself to refuse new members. He stiffenedhis rules, and compelled members to pay at his office instead of ontheir own doorsteps; he instituted fines for irregularity. But nothingcould stop the progress of the Universal Thrift Club. And disasterapproached. Denry felt as though he were being pushed nearer and nearerto the edge of a precipice by a tremendous multitude of people. Atlength, very much against his inclination, he put up a card in hiswindow that no new members could be accepted until further notice,pending the acquisition of larger offices and other rearrangements.

  For the shrewd, it was a confession of failure, and he knew it.

  Then the rumour began to form, and to thicken, and to spread, thatDenry's famous Universal Thrift Club was unsound at the core, and thatthe teeth of those who had bitten the apple would be set on edge.