Beggar’s Choice (11 page)

“No, I thought I was doing pretty well.”

“There hadn't been any complaints?”

“No.”

“They just fired you all of a sudden?”

“Yes.”

“Every time?”

He thought for a moment. Beecher—he'd been getting along like a house on fire with old Beecher—and then, “I'm sorry, Mr. Fairfax, but we're cutting down the staff.” Prothero—yes, that was sudden enough. Craddock—you couldn't count Craddock, who was just pure beast. But Gray—Gray had been full of a decent embarrassment.

“Why did you ask me that?”

“I'm going to ask you something else,” said Corinna. “I'm going to ask you whether you've got an enemy. No, I'm not—I'm going to ask you who your enemy is. I don't need to ask whether you've got one.” A little hot color stood in her cheeks. Her eyes met his squarely.

Car leaned back smiling.

“I'm afraid I'm my own enemy, Miss Lee.”

She clapped her hands together sharply.

“You
don't
like me for a cousin!”

“Why——”

“Didn't I call you Carthew right away? If it isn't the worst slap in the face I've ever had, to be called Miss Lee as if I was my own chaperone and at least as old as Cousin Abby!”

Car laughed, as one laughs at a child.

“My mistake! Let's begin all over again. I'm Car, and you're Corinna.”

“And we're talking business,” said Miss Lee reprovingly.

“Are we?”

“I am.” She put her head a little on one side, let her lashes fall just a shade, and asked,

“Who was that girl on the stairs?”

“Fay Everitt?”

“Fay Something—I didn't get her whole name. Who is she?”

Car experienced an extreme embarrassment. What was Peter playing at? Had he told this child he was married? He seemed to have told her a good many intimate things, but he didn't seem to have told her that; and it wasn't like Peter—it wasn't in the least like Peter. If Peter hadn't said he was married to Fay, it was going to be uncommonly awkward for any one else to say it. He wondered if it was Fay who was insisting on this rotten secrecy. He looked very nearly as embarrassed as he felt when he said,

“Didn't Peter mention her?”

“No. Is she a friend of Peter's?”

“Yes—she was.”

“You mean they've quarreled?”

“Oh no.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

Car wondered. He wasn't sure, but he supposed that Fay would have claimed him as a friend.

He compromised with, “I've known her for some time,” and to his horror felt the color rise in his face.

“'M—m—m——” said Corinna. “She didn't act in a very genial way—did she?”

“Not very.”

“Why?”

“I don't know,” said Car.

She waved Fay Everitt away.

“Do you know what I'm doing to-morrow?”

“Something pleasant, I hope.”

“I hope so too. I'm going to Linwood to see my grandmother's nephew, John Carthew. Will it be pleasant?”

“If he likes you. He's charming to people he likes.”

“And he doesn't like you?”

“He likes people as long as they do everything he wants them to. If they want to do something else, there's trouble.”

“And you wanted to do something else?”

“I like my own way too,” said Car.

XIII

Car Fairfax's Diary:

September
18
th
, Wednesday—I'm
blowed
if I can understand what's happening. I'm going to keep on writing everything down. I don't like the feel of things. Yesterday morning I got a letter from Z.10 Smith—he signed it like that—and it was an apology for not having kept the appointment he had made with me over the telephone. He said he'd been delayed by an accident to his car and didn't get to Churt Row till nearly eleven, and he finished up by asking me to be at the same place at the same time that evening. I can't copy the letter or attach it, because it has disappeared. My letters seem to be getting a habit of disappearing. That's one of the things I don't like. I'm prepared to swear I left it inside my blotter when I went out, and when I came back it was gone. I didn't get back till pretty late—that is, I didn't get up to my room till pretty late—because I met an American cousin on the doorstep, and went off and had tea with her at the Luxe. That looks funny written down; but after the first ten minutes or so it didn't feel funny. She's a ripping kid, as friendly as they're made. Her name's Corinna Lee. She's going down to Linwood to-day. I wonder if she'll see Isobel. I didn't say anything about Isobel, because I was afraid of giving myself away. Corinna is as sharp as a needle.

Well, at half-past nine I started to walk down to Putney. I found Churt Row without asking this time. I hadn't heard the clock strike, so I didn't know whether I was early or not—I thought I must be. There wasn't any car in sight. I walked as far as Olding Crescent and stood at the corner looking down the road. I hadn't been there more than half a minute before some one came out of the shadow of the long brick wall which I had noticed the other day. He didn't come very far across the road. He stood there and said, “Mr. Fairfax?” and as soon as I moved to meet him he went back into the shadow again. I followed him into what was practically pitch dark, because the branches of big trees growing inside the garden came down over the wall nearly the whole way along it. The wall must have run three or four hundred yards, and the nearest lamp-post was a good way off on the other side of the road. I stood still when I got in under the trees. I thought it was up to him to begin.

He said “Mr. Fairfax?” again, and I said, “Mr. Smith?”

“Z.,” he said; and when I didn't say anything, he went on in a dry, impatient whisper: “What's the number? If you're Fairfax, you know the number.”

So then I said, “Z.10.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

“I was vexed to miss you last night. I suppose you gave me up?”

I didn't answer that. He either knew what had happened last night, or he didn't. If he didn't, I wasn't going to tell him. I waited a bit, and he made an impatient sound, and went on:

“Well, Mr. Fairfax, you're here now, so I take it you're interested in the possibility of earning five hundred pounds?”

I thought I might agree to that, so I did, and I wondered what he was going to ask me to do. I hoped it wasn't going to be forgery. I felt somehow as if I should like a change.

“Five hundred pounds is a large sum of money,” he began.

“There are larger sums.”

“They're not so easily come by.”

“Is this one easily come by?”

“Very much to the point, Mr. Fairfax—very much to the point.” He took me by the arm and began to walk me down the road away from the corner. “The matter, as you most certainly will have guessed, is of a very confidential nature. Now I put it to you—does one hand over a large sum of money and a confidential mission without making sure that one's choice is a wise one—wise and—er—
safe
?”

He had very hard and bony fingers, and a singularly inexpressive voice. He seemed scarcely to touch my arm, and yet his touch cramped me. He was a little man with a fidgety manner and a way of putting up his hand—to adjust his glasses, I thought. There was a flavor of formality about his way of speech. I felt quite sure that I had never talked with him before, except perhaps on the telephone yesterday morning. He went on speaking, and when we came to the end of the long brick wall, he turned and walked me back again.

“The matter being of such a very confidential nature, you will not think it unreasonable if there is some little delay about entrusting it to you. To be quite frank, my principal would like an opportunity of testing your capabilities.”

“In what way?” I asked.

He did not answer me directly.

“My principal proposes that you should be paid a retaining fee until such time as it may appear advisable to call upon you for the service which will earn the offered five hundred pounds.”

I repeated the words “a retaining fee” with a question in my voice.

“A sum of ten pounds down, and a salary of three pounds a week.”

I stood stock still in amazement and heard the crackle of a bank note not six inches from my right elbow. Ten pounds.… It sounded like the sort of dream you have when you've gone short of water and you think you hear a running stream. That happened to me once in Africa. It was a dream, and I woke up and there wasn't any water. The crackle of that note sounded awfully real.

Old Z.10 had let go of my arm and was doing something with a pocket-book. All of a sudden there was a click and a little round blob of light no bigger than a shilling popped out of the dark and slid across the tarnished silver edge of a leather note-case and the black and white of a half unfolded note. It came to rest on the big “Five” in one corner. If a note sounded good, it looked even better. I had sixpence in my pocket—
sixpence
. And if I pawned anything more, I shouldn't have a change of clothes. Five pounds—ten pounds—ten pounds down.… I heard the running stream, and I wondered when I was going to wake up.

“Well, Mr. Fairfax?”

I made myself look away from the patch of light.

“What have I got to do for this?”

“For this? Nothing. It is merely a retaining fee.”

“To what extent does it commit me?”

“It does not commit you at all—it merely enables my principal to make the observations which he considers necessary and advisable. Let me explain. He wishes to see you without being seen. To this end he wishes you to go to certain public places, which will afford him an opportunity of observing you. To do this you will have to replenish your wardrobe. Ten pounds will not, perhaps, go very far, but it should enable you to pass muster. You possess dress clothes?”

I didn't think it necessary to tell him that they were in pawn, so I said,

“Yes.”

“Well, Mr. Fairfax,” he said again, “do you accept?”

There was something I meant to ask, but I didn't know how to put it. I hesitated, and then got it out.

“Is your principal a woman?” Because if it was Anna, I thought I was going to prefer the workhouse after all.

He sounded most awfully surprised as he said,

“A woman? Certainly not. May I ask what suggested this idea to you?”

Naturally I wasn't going to tell him that.

He slid the spotlight back on to the case, picked up two fivers, and held them out.

“You accept then?”

I took the notes and put them in the pocket with the sixpence.

“What am I to do?” I asked.

His hand with the torch in it had fallen to his side. The little circle of light swung to and fro on the worn edge of the road. It had been tarred, and the tar had broken away into holes that looked like the pictures of dead craters in the moon.

“Why,” he said, “nothing very arduous. This is Tuesday. To-morrow you will dine at Leonardo's.”

“Alone?” I said.

“No—no——” He seemed to be considering the question. “No—I don't think so. You had better invite a lady to accompany you.”

I laughed. I don't know why, but the thing tickled me.

“I'm afraid I don't know any lady whom I could ask.”

The little round shilling's worth of light went swinging to and fro over the dead craters of the moon and a dry leaf or two and the dust of the road.

“Surely—
surely
,” he said. “Come, Mr. Fairfax—you do yourself an injustice. There is surely some one.”

“There is Mrs. Bell,” I suggested, and as soon as I'd said it I could tell that he knew Mrs. Bell was my landlady.

He moved sharply and was going to speak, and didn't speak. I wondered how much he really did know about my circumstances. I began to think that he knew a good deal.

“And who is Mrs. Bell?”

“A British matron and my landlady.”

“Ah,” he said—“yes. But I have no time to waste on landladies. Come, Mr. Fairfax—you will not ask me to believe that your landlady is the only woman you know. I am informed that you have at any rate an acquaintance with one of your fellow lodgers. Would she not perhaps be a more suitable companion?”

I don't know why I hadn't thought of Fay, but I hadn't. She would certainly be—suitable.

“I could ask her,” I said. “But it's short notice—she might be engaged.”

“Well, well,” he said again, “if she is, something must be done about it. If you arrive alone, a partner will be provided—but the other would be better.”

He turned out the light on the pocket-book and took out five one-pound Treasury notes.

“For expenses,” he said, and handed them over.

He then shut the pocket-book and put it away.

“Your engagement begins to-night. Your salary will be paid you to-day week. Your instructions will reach you from time to time either by letter, telegram, telephone, or word of mouth. Written communications will be signed ‘Z.10.' Messages will be preceded by ‘Z.10' as a pass-word. That is all. Good-night.”

He switched off the light, turned sharp round, and walked away down Olding Crescent. I could not see him, but I could hear his footsteps getting fainter and fainter. When I couldn't hear them any longer I went home.

XIV

September
19
th
—I woke up next morning with the feeling that something had happened, or was going to happen. I wasn't really awake, and I wasn't really asleep. The sun was making a bright golden line all round the edge of my blind, and the room was full of that happened feeling.

Then I remembered that what had happened was fifteen pounds—two five-pound notes and five Bradburys. And what was going to happen was new boots, a suit of clothes—and dinner at Leonardo's. It all felt pretty good, and at the moment I wasn't bothering about what my principal, or Z.10's principal, might be going to ask me to do. I was going to get some new boots even if the skies fell.