 CHAPTER III THE ADVENTURE OF THE INQUISITIVE AMERICAN In one week I had multiplied my capital two hundred and fortyfold. I left London with but two pence in the world. I quitched schlagenbad with two pounds in pocket. There's a splendid turnover. I thought to myself, if this luck holds, at the same rate I shall have made four hundred and eighty pounds by Tuesday next, and I may look forward to being a Barney Bernardo by Christmas. For I had taken high mathematical honours at Cambridge, and if there is anything on earth on which I pride myself, it is my firm grasp of the principle of ratios. Still, in spite of this brilliant financial prospect, a budding Klondike, I went away from the little spa on the flanks of the townus with a heavy heart. I had grown quite like dear virulent fidgety old lady Georgina, and I felt that it had cost me a distinct wrench to part with Harold Tillington. The wrench left a scar which was long in healing, but as I am not a professional sentimentalist, I will not trouble you here with details of the symptoms. My livelihood, however, was now assured me, with two pounds in pocket a sensible girl can read her title clear to six days' board and lodging at six marks a day with a glorious margin of four marks over for pocket money, and if at the end of six days my fairy godmother had not pointed me out some other means of earning my bread honestly, well, I should feel myself unworthy to be ranked in the noble army of adventurers. I thank thee, Lady Georgina, for teaching me that word, and adventurous I would be, for I loved adventure. Meanwhile, it occurred to me that I might fill up the interval by going to study art at Frankfurt. Elsie Petheridge had been there, and had impressed upon me the fact that I must on no account omit to see the Stardale Gallery. She was strong on culture. Besides, the study of art should be most useful to an adventurer, for she must need all the arts that human skill has developed. So to Frankfurt I betook myself, and found there a nice little pension for ladies only Frau Bökenheimer assured me, at very moderate rates, in a pleasant part of the Lindenstrasse. It had dimity curtains. I will not deny that as I entered the house I was conscious of feeling lonely. My heart sank once or twice as I glanced round the luncheon-table at the domestically unsympathetic German old maids who formed the rank and file of my fellow-borders. There they sat, eight comfortable fraus, who had missed their vocation, plentiful ladies bulging and surging in tightly stretched black silk bodices. They had been cut out, for such housewives as Harold Tillington had described, but found themselves deprived of their natural sphere of life by the unaccountable caprice of the men of their nation. Each was a model of the teutonic maitrean monquet, each looked capable of frying frankfurter sausages to a turn, and knitting woollen socks to a remote eternity. But I sought in vain for one kindred soul among them. How horrible they would have been with their fat-putting faces and big saucer eyes had I boldly announced myself as an English adventureress. I spent my first morning in laborious self-education at the Aradnium and the Stardale Gallery. I borrowed a catalogue. I wrestled with van der Veiden. I toiled like a galley-slave at Meister Wilhelm and Meister Stefan. I have a confused recollection that I saw a number of stiff medieval pictures and an alabaster statue of the lady who smiled as she rode on a tiger, taken at the beginning of that interesting episode. But the remainder of the institute has faded from my memory. In the afternoon I consoled myself for my herculean efforts in the direction of culture by going out for a bicycle ride on a hired machine, to which end I decided to devote my pocket money. You will perhaps object here that my conduct was imprudent. To raise that objection is to misunderstand the spirit of these artless adventures. I told you that I set out to go round the world, but to go round the world does not necessarily mean to circumnavigate it. My idea was to go round by easy stages, seeing the world as I went as far as I got, and taking as little heed as possible of the morrow. Most of my readers, no doubt, accept that philosophy of life on Sundays only. On weekdays they swallow the usual contradictory economic platitudes about prudential forethought and the horrid improbidance of the lower classes. For myself I am not built that way. I prefer to take life in a spirit of pure inquiry. I put on my hat, I saunter where I choose so far as circumstances permit, and I wait to see what chance will bring me. My ideal is breeziness. The hired bicycle was not a bad machine as hired bicycles go. It jolted one as little as you can expect from a common hack. It never stopped to to be a garden, and it showed very few signs of having been ridden by beginners with an unconquerable desire to tilt at the hedgerow. So off I was soared at once, heedless of the jeers of teutonic youth, who found the sight of a lady in skirts riding a cycle a strange one, for in South Germany the rational costume is so universal among women cyclists, that it is the skirt that provokes unfavourable comment from those jealous guardians of female propriety the street boys. I hurried on at a brisk pace, past the palm garden and the suburbs, with my loose hair straying on the breeze behind, till I found myself peddling at a good round pace on a broad level road, which led towards a village by the name of Fronheim. As I scurried across the plain, with the wind in my face, not unpleasantly, I had some dim consciousness of somebody unknown flying after me headlong. My first idea was that Harold Tillington had hunted me down and tracked me to my lair, but gazing back I saw my pursuer was a tall and ungainly man, with a straw-coloured moustache, apparently American, and that he was following me on his machine, closely watching my action. He had such a cunning expression on his face, and seemed so strangely inquisitive, with eyes riveted on my treadles, that I didn't quite like the look of him. I put on the pace to see if I could outstrip him, for I am a swift cyclist, but his long legs were too much for me. He did not gain on me, it is true, but neither did I outpace him. Peddling my very hardest, and I could make good time when necessary, I still kept pretty much at the same distance in front of him, all the way to Fronheim. Gradually I began to feel sure that the weedy-looking man with the alert face was really pursuing me. When I went faster, he went faster too. When I gave him a chance to pass me, he kept close at my heels, and appeared to be keenly watching the style of my ankle action. I gathered that he was a connoisseur, but why on earth he should persecute me? I could not imagine. My spirit was roused now. I peddled with a will, if I rode all day, I would not let him go past me. Beyond the cobble-paved chief street of Fronheim, the road took a sharp bend, and began to mount the slopes of the townhouse suddenly. It was an abrupt, steep climb, but I flattened myself, I am a tolerable mountain cyclist. I rode steadily on, my pursuer darted after me, but on this stiff, upward grade, my lightweight and agile ankle action told, I began to distance him. He seemed afraid that I would give him the slip, and called out suddenly with a whoop in English. Stop! Miss! I looked back with dignity, but answered nothing. He put on the pace, panting. I peddled away, and got clear from him. At a turn of the corner, however, as luck would have it, I was pulled up short by a mounted policeman. He blocked the road with his horse like an ogre, and asked me, in a very gruff, Swabian voice, if this was the licensed bicycle. I had no idea, till he spoke, that any license was required, though to be sure I might have guessed it, for modern Germany is studded with notices at all the street corners to inform you in minute detail that everything is forbidden. I stammered out that I did not know. The policeman drew near and inspected me rudely. It is strongly under said, he began, but just at that moment my pursuer came up, and with American quickness took in the situation. He accosted the policeman in choice-bad German. I have two licenses," he said, producing a handful. The frail line rides with me. I was too much taken aback at so providential and interposition to contradict this highly imaginative statement. My highwaymen had turned into a protecting knight-errant of injured innocence. I let the policeman go his way, but then I glanced at my preserver. A very ordinary, modern St. George he looked, with no lance to speak of, and no steed but a bicycle, yet his mean was reassuring. Good morning, miss! He began. He called me miss every time he addressed me, as though he took me for a barmaid. Excuse me! But why did you want to speed her? I thought you were pursuing me," I answered, a little tremulous I will confess, but avid of incident. And if I was, he went on, you might have conjectured, miss, it was for our mutual advantage. A businessman doesn't go out of his way unless he expects to turn an honest dollar, and he don't reckon on other folks going out of theirs, unless he knows he can put them in the way of turning an honest dollar with him. That's reasonable," I answered, for I am a political economist. The benefit should be mutual. But I wondered if he was going to propose at sight to me. He looked me all up and down. You are a lady of considerable personal attractions," he said musingly, as if he were criticising a horse. And I won't want that sort. That's just why I trailed, you see, besides which there's some style about you. Style, I repeated? Yes, he went on. You know how to use your feet, and you have good understandings. I gathered from his glance that he referred to my nether-limbs. We are all vertebrate animals, why seek to conceal the fact? I failed to follow you, I answered frigidly, for I really didn't know what the man might say next. That's so, he replied, it was I that followed you. Seems I didn't make much of a job of it, either, anyway. I mounted my machine again. Well, good morning," I said coldly. I am much obliged for your kind assistance. But your remark was fictitious, and I desire to go on unaccompanied. He held up his hand in warning. You ain't going," he cried horrified. You ain't going without hearing me. I mean business. Say, don't chuck away good money like that. I tell you there's dollars in it. In what? I asked, still moving on, but curious. On the slope, if need were, I could easily out-distance him. Why, in the cycling of yours, he replied, you're just about the very woman I'm looking for a miss. Lie, that's what I call you. I can put you in the way of making your pile, I can. This is a bona fide offer, no flies on my business. You decline it, prejudice injures you, injures me. Be reasonable, anyway. I looked round and laughed. Formulate yourself," I said briefly. He rose to it like a man. Meet me at Frownheim, corner, by the post office, ten o'clock to-morrow morning. He shouted as I rode off, and if I don't convince you there's money in this job, my name's not Sirus W. Hitchcock. Something about his keen, unlovely face impressed me with a sense of his underlying honesty. Very well, I answered, I'll come, if you follow me no further. I reflected that Frownheim was a populous village, and that only beyond it did the mountain road over the townus begin to grow lonely. If you wished to cut my throat, I was well within reach of the resources of civilization. When I got home to the abode of blighted frowls that evening, I debated seriously with myself whether or not I should accept Mr. Sirus W. Hitchcock's mysterious invitation. Parents said no. Curiosity said yes. I put the question to a meeting of one, and since I am a daughter of Eve, curiosity had it. Carried unanimously. I think I might have hesitated indeed, had it not been for the blighted frowls. Their talk was of dinner and of the digestive process. They were critics of digestion. They each of them sat so complacently through the evening, solid and stolid, stodgy and podgy, puffed comatose images, knitting white woolen shawls to throw over their capacious shoulders at table-dote, and they purred in such content in their middle-age rotundity, that had made up my mind I must take warning betimes and avoid their temptations to adipose deposit. I prefer to grow upwards, the frowl grows sideways. Better get my throat cut by an American desperado in my pursuit of romance, than settle down on a rock like a placid fat oyster. I am not by nature, sessile. Adventures are to the adventurous. They abound on every side, but only the chosen few have the courage to embrace them, and they will not come to you. You must go out to seek them. Then they meet you half-way, and rush into your arms, for they know their true lovers. There were eight blighted frowls at the home for lost ideals, and I could tell by simple inspection that they had not had an average of half an adventure per lifetime between them. They sat, and knitted still, like awful examples. If I had declined to meet Mr. Hitchcock at Frownheim, I know not what changes it might have induced in my life. I might now be knitting, but I went boldly forth on a voyage of exploration prepared to accept oughts that fate held in store for me. As Mr. Hitchcock had assured me there was money in his offer, I felt justified in speculating. I expended another three marks on the hire of a bicycle, though I ran the risk thereby of going, perhaps, without Monday's dinner. That showed my vocation. The blighted frowls I felt sure would have clung to their dinner at all hazards. When I arrived at Frownheim, I found my alert American punctually there before me. He raised his crushed hat with awkward politeness. I could see he was little accustomed to lady's society. Then he pointed to a close cab in which he had reached the village. I've guided inside. He whispered in a confidential tone, I couldn't let them catch sight of it. You see, there's dollars in it. What have you got inside? I asked suspiciously, drawing back. I don't know why, but the word it somehow suggested a corpse. I began to grow frightened. Why? The wheel, of course, he answered. Ain't you come here to ride it? Oh, the wheel? I echoed vaguely, pretending to look wise, but unaware as yet that the word was the accepted Americanism for a bicycle. And I have come to ride it. Why, certainly," he replied, jerking his hand towards the cab, but we mustn't start right here. This thing has got to be kept dark, don't you see, till the last day. That was ominous. It sounded like monomania, so ghostly and delusive. I began to suspect my American ally of being a dangerous madman. Just you wheel away a bit up the hill, he went on, out of sight of the folks, and I'll fetch her along to you. Huh? I cried. Who? For the man bewildered me. Why, the wheel, miss. You understand. This is business, you bet, and you're just the right woman. Emotion me on. Urged by a sort of spell, I remounted my machine and rode out of the village. He followed on the box seat of his cab. Then, when we had left the world well behind, and stood among the sun-smitten bowls of the pine trees, he opened the door mysteriously, and produced from the vehicle a very odd looking bicycle. It was clumsy to look at. It differed immensely in many particulars from any machine I had yet seen or ridden. The strenuous American fondled it for a moment with his hand, as if it were a pet child. Then he mounted nimbly, pride shone in his eye, I saw in a second he was a fond inventor. He rode a few yards on. Next, he turned to me eagerly. This machine, he said in an impressive voice, is propelled by an eccentric. Like all his countrymen, he laid most stress on unaccented syllables. Well, I knew you were an eccentric, I said, the moment I set eyes on you. He surveyed me gravely. You misunderstand me, miss," he said, corrected. When, I say, an eccentric, I mean a crank. They're much the same thing, I answered briskly, though I confess I would hardly have applied so rude a word as crank to you. He looked me over suspiciously, as if I were trying to make a game of him, but my face was Sphinx-like, so he brought the machine a yard or two nearer, and explained its construction to me. He was quite right, it was driven by a crank. It had no chain, but was moved by a pedal, working narrowly up and down and attached to a rigid bar, which impelled the wheels by means of an eccentric. Besides this, it had a curious device for altering the gearing automatically while on road, so as to enable one to adapt it to the varying slope and mounting hills. This part of the mechanism he explained to me elaborately. There was a gauge in front, which allowed one to sight the steepness of the slope by mere inspection, and according as the gauge marked, one, two, three, or four, as its gradient on the scale, the rider pressed a button on the handlebar with his left hand once, twice, thrice, or four times, so that the gearing adapted itself without an effort to the rise in the surface. Besides, there were devices for rigidity and compensation. All together it was the most apt and ingenious piece of mechanism. I did not wonder he was proud of it. "'Get up and ride, miss,' he said in a persuasive voice. I did as I was bid. To my immense surprise I ran up the steep hill as smoothly and easily as if it were a perfectly laid level. Built nicely, doesn't she?' Mr. Hitchcock murmured, rubbing his hands. "'Beautifully,' I answered. One could ride such a machine that Montbrom I should fancy. He stroked his chin with nervous fingers. It art to knock them,' he said in an eager voice. It's geared to run utmost anything in creation. "'How steep? One foot and three. That's good. Yes. It'll climb Mount Washington.' "'What do you call it?' I asked. He looked me over with close scrutiny. "'In America,' he said slowly, we call it the Great Manitou, because it can do pretty well what it chooses. But in Europe I'm thinking of calling it the Martin Conway or the Wimper, something like that.' "'Why so? Well, because it's a famous mountain climber.' "'I see,' I said. "'With such a machine you'll put a notice on the Matterhorn. This hill is dangerous to cyclists.' He laughed low to himself and rubbed his hands again. "'You'll do, Miss,' he said. "'You're the right sort you are. The moment I've seen you I thought we two could do a trade together. Benefits me, benefits you. A mutual advantage. Reciprocity is the soul of business. You have some going you have. There's money in your feet. You'll give these mine-hurres fits. You'll take the clear starch out of them.' "'I fail to catch on,' I answered, speaking his own dialect to human him. "'Oh, you'll get there all the same,' he replied, stroking his machine, meanwhile. "'It was a squirrel, it was.' He pronounced it squirrel. It'd run up a tree if it wanted, wouldn't it? He was talking to it now as if it were a dog or a baby. There, there, it mustn't kick. It was a frisky little thing. Just you step up on it, Miss, and have a go at that there mountain.' I stepped up and had a go. The machine bounded forward like an agile greyhound. You had but to touch it, and it ran of itself. Never had I ridden so vivacious, so animated a cycle. I returned to him, sailing, with the gradient reversed. The manatee glided smoothly, as on a gentle slope, without the need for backpedaling. "'It soars,' he remarked with enthusiasm. "'Balloons are at a discount beside it,' I answered. "'Now, you want to know about this business, I guess,' he went on. "'You want to know just where the reciprocity comes in, anyhow.' "'I am ready to hear you expound,' I admitted, smiling. "'Oh, it ain't all on one side,' he continued, eyeing his machine at an angle with parental affection. "'I'm going to make you a fortune right here. You shall ride her for me on the last day, and if you pull this thing off, don't you be scared that I won't treat you handsome.' "'If you are a little more succinct,' I said gravely, "'we should get forwarder, faster.' "'Perhaps you wander,' he put in, that with money on it like this I shouldn't trust the job into the hands of a female.' I winced, but was silent. "'Well, it's like this, don't you see? If a female wins, it makes success all the more striking and conspicuous. The world to-day is ruled by advertisement. I could stand it no longer.' "'Mr. Hitchcock,' I said with dignity, "'I haven't the remotest idea what on earth you are talking about.' He gazed at me with surprise. "'What?' he exclaimed at last. "'And you can cycle that, that? Not know what all the cycling world is mad about? Why, you don't mean to tell me you're not a professional?' I enlightened him at once as to my position in society, which was respectable, if not lucrative. His face felt somewhat, ah, toned, eh? Still, you'd run all the same, wouldn't you?' He inquired. "'Run for what?' I asked innocently. Parliament? The Presidency? The Frankfurt Town Council?' He had difficulty in fathoming the depths of my ignorance, but by degrees I understood him. It seemed that the German Imperial and Prussian royal governments had offered a kaiserly and kingly prize for the best military bicycle, the course to be run over the townhouse, from Frankfurt to Limburg, the winning machine to get the equivalent of a thousand pounds. Each firm to supply its own make and rider. The last day was Saturday next, and the great manatee was the dark horse of the contest. Then all was clear as day to me. Mr. Sirius W. Hitchcock was keeping his machine a profound secret. He wanted a woman to ride it, so that his triumph might be the more complete, and the moment he saw me pedal up the hill in trying to avoid him, he recognised at once that I was that woman. I recognised it too. It was preordained harmony. After two or three trials I felt that the manatee was built for me, and I was built for the manatee. We ran together, little parts of one mechanism. I was always famed for my circular ankle action, and in this new machine ankle action was everything. Strength of limb counted for naught. What told was the power of clawing up again promptly. I possessed that power. I have prehistoric feet. My remote progenitors must certainly have been tree-haunting monkeys. We arranged terms then and there. You accept? Implicitly. If I pulled off the race, I was to have fifty pounds. If I didn't, I was to have five. It ain't only your skill, you see, Mr. Hitchcock said, with frank commercialism. It's your personal attractiveness as well that I go upon. That's an element to consider in business relations. My face is my fortune, I answered gravely. He nodded acquiescence. Till Saturday then I was free. Meanwhile I trained and practised quietly with the manatee in sequestered parts of the hills. I also took spells, turned about, at the Stardale Institute. I liked to interspersed culture and athletics. I know something about athletics, and hope in time to acquire a taste for culture. It is expected of a gherting girl, though my own accomplishments run rather towards rowing, punting and bicycling. On Saturday I confess I rose with great misgivings. I was not a professional, and to find oneself practically backed for a thousand pounds in a race against men is a trifle disquieting. Still, having once put my hand to the plow, I felt I was bound to pull it through somehow. I dressed my hair neatly in a very tight coil. I ate a light breakfast, eschewing the fried sausages which the blighted frowls pressed upon my notice, and satisfying myself with a gently boiled egg and some toast and coffee. I always found I rode best at Cambridge on the lightest diet. In my opinion, the raw beef regime is a serious error in training. At a minute or two before eleven I turned up at the Shiller Plats in my short, surged dress and cycling jacket. The great square was thronged with spectators to see the start. The police made a lane through their midst for the riders. My backer had advised me to come to the post as late as possible. For I have entered your name, he said, simply as Lois Caley. These dutchers don't think but what your man and a brother, but I am apprehensive of contingencies. When you put in a show they'll try to raise objections to you on account of your being a female. There won't be much time, though, and I shall rush the objections. Once they let you in and win it don't matter to me whether I get the twenty thousand marks or not. It's the advertisement that tells. Just you mark my words, Miss. And don't you make no mistake about it. The world is governed today by advertisement. So I turned up at the last moment and cast a timid glance at my competitors. They were all men, of course, and two of them were German officers in a sort of undressed cycling uniform. They eyed me superciliously. One of them went up and spoke to the hair-over-superintendant who had charge of the contest. I understood him to be lodging an objection against a mere woman taking part in the race. The hair-over-superintendant, a bulky official, came up beside me and prepended visibly. He bent his big brows to it. It was appalling to observe the measurable amount of teutonic celebration going on under cover of his round green glasses. He was propending for some minutes. Time was almost up. Then he turned to Mr. Hitchcock, having finally made up his colossal mind, and murmured rudely, The woman cannot compete. Why not? I inquired, in my very sweetest German, with an angelic smile, though my heart trembled. Warum nicht? Because the word Reider in the Kaiserly and Kingly for this contest provided decree is distinctly in the masculine gender stated. Pardon me, hair-over-superintendant, I replied, pulling out a copy of Law 97 on this subject, with which I had duly provided myself. If you will, to Section 45 of the Bicycle Circulation Regulation Act, your attention in turn, you will find it therein expressly enacted, that unless any clause be anywhere to the contrary inserted, the word Reider in the masculine gender put, shall hear the word Reideress in the feminine to embrace be considered. For anticipating the subjection, I had taken the precaution to look the legal question up beforehand. Zartes threw, the hair-over-superintendant observed, an amusing voice, gazing down at me with relenting eyes. The masculine habitually embraces the feminine, and he brought his massive intellect to bear upon the problem once more with prodigious concentration. I seized my opportunity. Let me start, at least, I urged, holding out the act. If I win, you can the matter more fully with the Kaiserly and Kingly governments hereafter argue out. I guess this will be an international affair, Mr. Hitchcock remarked well-pleased. It would be a first-rate advertisement for the great magnitude of England and Germany were to make the question into a casus belly. The United States could look on and protect the Chessnuts. Two minutes to go, the official starter with the watch called out, Fall in, then, frau-line, Inger London. The hair-over-superintendant observed, without prejudice, waving me into line. He pinned a badge with large number seven on my dress. The Kaiserly and Kingly governments shall on the affair of the startings legality, hereafter on my report, more at leisure, past judgment. The lieutenant in undress uniform drew back a little. Oh, if this is to be woman's play, he muttered. Then can a Prussian officer himself by competing not into contempt bring? I dropped a little curtsy. If the hair-lieutenant is afraid even to enter against an English woman, I said, smiling. He came up to the scratch suddenly. One minute to go, called out the starter. We were all on the alert. There was a pause, a deep breath. I was horribly frightened, but I tried to look calm. Then, sharp and quick, came the word. Go! And like arrows from a bow, off we all started. I had risen over the whole course, the day but one before, on a mountain pony, with an observant eye and my sedulous American, rising at five o'clock so as not to excite undue attention, and I therefore knew beforehand the exact route we were to follow, but I confess, when I saw the Prussian lieutenant and one of my other competitors dash forward at a pace that simply astonished me, that fifty pounds seemed to melt away in the dim abyss of the Evig kite. I gave up all for lost. I could never make the running against such practice cyclists. However, we all turned out into the open road which leads across the plain and down the main valley, in the direction of Mayentz. For the first ten miles or so, it is a dusty level. The surface is perfect, but was a blinding white thread. As I toiled along it that broiling June day, I could hear the voice of my backer, who followed on horse-pack, exhorting me in loud tones. Don't scorch, miss! Don't scorch! Never mad if you lose sight of them! Keep your wind! That's the point! The wind! The wind's everything! Let him beat you on the level! You'll catch him up first enough when you get on to the towners. But in spite of his encouragement, I almost lost heart as I saw one after another of my opponent's backs disappear in the distance. Till at last I was left toiling along the bare white road alone, in a shower-bath of sunlight, with just a dense cloud of dust rising gray far ahead of me. My head swam. It repented me of my boldness. Then the riders on horse-pack began to grumble, for by police regulation they were not allowed to pass the hindmost of the cyclists, and they were kept back by my presence from following up their special champions. Give it up, brawline! Give it up! They cried. You're beaten! You're beaten! Let us pass and get forward. But at the self-same moment I heard the shrill voice of my American friend whooping aloud across the din. Don't you do nothing of the sort, miss! You stick to it, and keep your wind! It's the wind that wins! Them Germans won't be worth a cent on the high slopes, anyway. Encouraged by his voice, I worked steadily on, neither scorching nor relaxing, but maintaining an even pace at my natural pitch under the broiling sunshine. Heat rose and waves on my face from the road below. In the thin white dust the accusing tracks of six wheels confronted me. Still, I kept on following them till I reached the town of Hoxt, nine miles from Frankfurt. Hours along the route were timing us at intervals with chronometers and noting our numbers. As I rattled over the paved high street I called aloud to one of them. How far ahead is the last man? He shouted back, good-humidly, four minutes, brawline! Again I lost heart. Then I mounted a slight slope, and felt how easily the manatee moved up the gradient. From its summit I could note a long grey cloud of dust rolling steadily onward down the hill towards Hattershheim. I coasted down with my feet up, and a slight breeze just cooling me. Mr. Hitchcock, behind, called out, full-throated from his seat. No, hurry, no, flurry, take your time, take your time, miss! Over the bridge at Hattershheim you turned to the right abruptly and began to mount by the side of a pretty little stream, the Swatchspark, which runs brawling over rocks down the townus from Epstein. By this time the excitement had somewhat cooled down for the moment. I was getting reconciled to be beaten on the level, and began to realise that my chances would be best as we approached the steepest bits of the mountain road about Niederhausen, so I positively plucked up heart to look about me and enjoy the scenery. With hair flying behind, that coil had played me false, I swept through Hofheim, a pleasant little village at the mouth of a grassy valley enclosed by wooded slopes, the Swatchspark, making cool music in the glen below as I mounted beside it. Clambering larches, like huge candelabra, stood out on the ridge, silhouetted against the skyline. How far ahead the last man? I cried to the recording soldier. He answered me back. Two minutes, rowline! I was gaining on them. I was gaining. I thundered across the Swatchspark, by a half a dozen clamourous little lion bridges, making easy time now, and with my feet working as if they were themselves an integral part of the machinery. Up, up, up! It looked a vertical ascent. The Manitou glided well in its oil bath at its half-way gearing. I rode for dear life. At sixteen miles, Lorsspark, at eighteen, Epstein, the road still rising. How far ahead the last man? Just round the corner, rowline! I put on a little steam. Sure enough, round the corner I caught sight of his back. With a spurt I passed him, a dust-covered soul, very hot and uncomfortable. He had not kept his wind. I flew past him like a whirlwind, but, oh, how sultry hot in that sweltering, close valley! A pretty little town, Epstein, with its medieval castle perched high on a craggy rock. I owed it some gratitude, I felt, as I left it behind, thought it was here that I came up with a tail-end of my opponents. That one victory cheered me. So far our route had lain along the well-made, but dusty high road in the steaming valley. At neither Josspark, two miles on, we quitted the road, abruptly, by the course marked out for us, and turned up a mountain path only wide enough for two cycles abreast, a path that clambered towards the higher slopes of the townus. That was arranged on purpose, for this was no fair weather show, but a practical trial for military bicycles, under the conditions they might meet with in actual warfare. It was rugged riding. Black walls of pine rose steep on either hand, the ground was uncertain. Our path mounted sharply from the first, the steeper the better. By the time I had reached Ober Josspark, nestling high among large-woods, I had distanced all but two of my opponents. It was cooler now, too. As I passed the hamlet, my cry altered. How far ahead the first man? Two minutes for all I'm—a civilian? No, no, a Prussian officer. The heirly tenant led then. For old England's sake I felt I must beat him. The steepest slope of all lay in the next two miles. If I were going to win, I must pass these two there, for my advantage lay all in the climb. If it came to coasting, the men's mere weight scored a point in their favour. Bump, crash, jolt. I peddled away like a machine. The manatee sobbed. My ankles flew round so that I scarcely felt them. But the road was rough and scarred with waterways. Ruts turned by rain to runnels. And half a mile after a desperate struggle among sand and pebbles, I passed the second man. Just ahead, the Prussian officer looked round and saw me. Sundarwether! Juse! Ingolandan! He cried, darting me a look of unshivorous dislike, such as only your sentimental German can cast at a woman. Yes, I am here behind you, heirly tenant. I answered, putting on a spurt. And I hoped next to be before you. He answered not a word, but worked his hardest. So did I. He bent forward. I sat erect on my manatee, pulling hard at my handles. Now my front wheel was upon him. It reached his pedal. We were abreast. He had a narrow thread of solid path, and he forced me into a runnel. Still I gained. He swerved. I think he tried to foul me. But the slope was too steep. His attempt recoiled on himself. He ran against the rock at the side and almost overbalanced. I waved my hand as I sailed ahead. Good morning! I cried gaily. See you again at Limburg. From the top of the slope I put my feet up and flew down into Idstein. A thundershowher burst. I was glad of the cool of it. It laid the dust. I regained the high road. From that moment, save for the risk of sideslips, it was easy running. Just an undulating line with occasional ups and downs. But I saw no more of my pursuers till, twenty-two kilometres further on, I rattled on the cobble-paved causeway into Limburg. I had covered the forty-six miles in quick time for a mountain climb. As I crossed the bridge over the lawn, to my immense surprise Mr. Hitchcock waved his arms all excitement to greet me. He had taken the train on from Idstein, it seemed, and got there before me. As I dismounted at the cathedral, which was our appointed end, and gave my badge to the soldier, he rushed up and shook my hands. Fifty pounds, he cried, fifty pounds! How's that for the great Anglo-Saxon race, and hooray for the manatee! The second man, the civilian, rode in wet and draggled forty seconds later. As for the hair-lieutenant, a disappointed man, he fell out by the way, alleging a puncture. I believe he was ashamed to admit the fact that he had been beaten in open fight by the obligated Inger London. So the end of it was, I was now a woman of means, with fifty pounds of my own to my credit. I lunched with my backer royally at the best inn in Limburg. End of CHAPTER III. The Adventure of the Amateur Commission Agent My eccentric American had assured me that if I won the great race for him I need not be scared lest he should fail to treat me well. And to do him justice I must admit that he kept his word magnanimously. While we sat at lunch in the cosy hotel at Limburg, he counted out, and paid me in hand, the fifty good gold pieces he had promised me. Whether these Duiters fork out my twenty thousand marks or not, he said, in his brisk way, it don't much matter. I shall get the contract, and I shall have gotten the advertisement. Why do you start your bicycles in Germany, though? I asked innocently. I should have thought myself there was a much better chance of selling them in England. He closed one eye, and looked abstractedly at the light through his glass of pale yellow brown burger with the other. England. Yes, England. Well, you see, miss, you have not been raised in business. Business is business. The way to do it in Germany is to manufacture for yourself, and I've got my work started right here in Frankfurt. The way to do it in England, where capitals dirt cheap, is to sell your patent for every cent it's worth to an English company, and let them boom or bust on it. I see, I said, catching at it, the principles as clear as mud the moment you pointed out to one. An English company will pay you well for the concession and work for a smaller return on its investment than you Americans are content to receive on your capital. That's so you hit it in one, miss. Which will you take, a cigar or a coconut? I smiled. And what do you think you will call the machine in Europe? He gazed hard at me and stroked his straw-coloured moustache. Well, what do you think of the lowest Cayley? For heaven's sake, no, I cried fervently. Mr. Hitchcock, I implore you. He smiled pity for my weakness. Ah, I toned again, he repeated, as if it were some natural malformation under which I laboured. Oh, if you don't like it, miss, we'll say no more about it. I am a gentleman I am. What's the matter with the Excelsior? Nothing, except that it's very bad Latin, I objected. That may be so, but it's very good business. He paused and mused, then he murmured low to himself. Went through an alpine village past. That's where the idea of the Excelsior comes in, see? It goes up Mont Blanc. You said yourself, through snow and ice, a cycle with the strange device, Excelsior. If I were you, I said, I would stick to the name Manitou. It's original and it's distinctive. Think so? Then chalk it up, the thing's done. You may not be aware of it, miss, but you are a lady for whose opinion in such matters I have a high regard, and you understand Europe. I do not, I admit it. Everything seems to be verboten in Germany, and everything else to be bad form in England. We walked down the steps together. What a picturesque old town, I said, looking round me well pleased. Its beauty appealed to me, for I had fifty pounds in pocket, and I had lunched sumptuously. Old town, he repeated, gazing with a blank stare. You call this town old, do you? Why, of course, just look at the cathedral, eight hundred years old, at least. He ran his eye down the streets, dissatisfied. Well, if this town is old, he said at last, with a snap of his fingers, its precious little for its age, and he strode away towards the railway station. What about the bicycle, I asked, for it lay a silent victor against the railing of the steps surrounded by a crowd of inquiring tootons. He glanced at it carelessly. Oh, the wheel, he said. You may keep it. He said it so exactly in the tone in which one tells a waiter he may keep the change that I resented to the impertinence. No, thank you, I answered. I do not require it. He gazed at me open-mouthed. What! Put my foot in it again, he interposed. Not high-toned enough, eh? Now I do regret it. No offence meant, miss, nor none need be taken. What I meant to insinuate was this. You have won the big race for me. Folks will notice you and talk about you at Frankfort. If you ride a man at two, that'll make them talk them more. A mutual advantage. Benefits you, benefits me. You get the wheel, I get the advertisement. I saw that reciprocity was the lodestar of his life. Very well, Mr. Hitchcock, I said, pocketing my pride. I'll accept the machine, and I'll ride it. Then a light dawned upon me. I saw eventualities. Look here, I went on innocently. Recollect, I was a girl just fresh from Gerton. I am thinking of going on very soon to Switzerland. Now why shouldn't I do this? Try to sell your machines, or rather take orders for them, from anybody that admires them. A mutual advantage. Benefits you, benefits me. You sell your wheels, I get— He stared at me. The commission? I don't know what commission means, I answered, somewhat at sea as to the term. But I thought it might be worth your while till the manatee becomes better known to pay me, say, ten percent on all orders I brought you. His face was one broad smile. I do admire you, miss, he cried, standing still to inspect me. You may not know the meaning of the word commission, but, Derned, if you haven't got a hang of the thing itself that would do honour to a Wall Street operator anyway. Then that's business. I asked eagerly, for I beheld vistas. Business, he repeated, yes, that's just about the size of it. Advertisement, miss, may be the soul of commerce, but commissions its body. You go in and win, ten percent on every order you send me. He insisted on taking my ticket back to Frankfurt. My affair, miss, my affair. There was no gain saying him. He was immensely elated. The biggest thing in cycle since Dunlop tires, he repeated, and to-morrow they'll give me advertisements gratis in every newspaper. Next morning he came round to call on me at the abode of unclaimed domestic angels. He was explicit and generous. Look here, miss, he began. I didn't do fair by you when you interviewed me about your agency last evening. I took advantage at the time of your youth and inexperience. You suggested ten percent as the amount of your commission on sales you might affect, and I jumped at it. That was conduct unworthy a gentleman. Now I will not deceive you. The ordinary commission on transactions in wheels is twenty-five percent. I am going to sell the manateau at twenty English pounds apiece. You shall have your twenty-five percent on all orders. Five pounds for every machine I sell, I exclaimed overjoyed. He nodded. That's so. I was simply amazed at this magnificent prospect. The cycle trade must be honeycombed with middleman's profits, I cried, for I had my misgivings. That's so, he replied again, then just you take and be a middlewoman. But as a consistent socialist, it's your duty to fleece the capitalist and the consumer. A mutual benefit, triangular this time. I get the order, the public gets the machine, and you get the commission. I am richer, you are richer, and the public is mounted on much the best wheel ever yet invented. That sounds plausible, I admitted. I shall try it on in Switzerland. I shall run up steep hills whenever I see any likely customers looking on. Then I shall stop and ask them the time, as if quite accidentally. He rubbed his hands. You take to business like a young duck to the water, he exclaimed admiringly. That's the way to rake them in. You go up and say to them, why not investigate? We defy competition. Leave the drudgery of walking up hill beside your cycle. Progress is the order of the day. Use modern methods. This is the age of the telegraph, the telephone, and the typewriter. You can no longer afford to go on with an antiquated anti-diluvian armour-plated wheel. Invest in a hill-climber, the last and lightest product of evolution. Is it common sense to buy an old-style, unautomatic, single-geared, inconvertible ten-ton machine, when for the same money or less, you can purchase the self-acting manatee, a priceless gem as light as a feather, with all the most recent additions and improvements? Be reasonable, get the best. That's the style to fetch them. I laughed in spite of myself. Oh, Mr. Hitchcock, I burst out, that's not my style at all, I shall say simply. This is a lovely new bicycle, you can see for yourself how it climbs hills. Try it if you wish. It skims like a swallow, and I get what they call five-pounds commission on every one I can sell of them. I think that way of dealing is much more likely to bring you in orders. His admiration was undisguised. Well, I do call you a woman of business, Miss," he cried. You see it at a glance. That's so. That's the right kind of thing to rope in the Europeans. Some originality about you. You take them on their own ground. You've got the draw on them, you have. I like your system. You'll just haul in the dollars. I hope so, I said fervently, for I had evolved in my own mind, oh, such a lovely scheme for Elsie Petridge's holidays. He gazed at me once more. If only I could get hold of a woman of business like you to soar through life with me, he murmured. I grew interested in my shoes. His open admiration was getting quite embarrassing. He paused a minute, then he went on. Well, what do you say to it? To what? I asked, amazed. To my proposition, my offer. I—I don't understand, I stammered out, bewildered. The twenty-five percent, you mean. No, the devotion of a lifetime, he answered, looking sideways at me. Miss Kaylee, when a businessman advances a proposition, commercial or otherwise, he advances it because he means it. He asks a prompt reply. Your time is valuable, so is mine. Are you prepared to consider it? Mr. Hitchcock, I said, drawing back, I think you misunderstand. I think you do not realize. All right, Miss, he answered promptly, though with a disappointed air. If it cannot be managed, it cannot be managed. I understand your European exclusiveness. I know your prejudices. But this little episode need not antagonize with the normal course of ordinary business. I respect you, Miss Kaylee. You are a lady of intelligence, of initiative, and of high-toned culture. I will wish you good day for the present without further words, and I shall be happy at any time to receive your orders on the usual commission. He backed out and was gone. He was so honestly blunt that I really quite liked him. Next day I bade a tearless farewell to the blighted frows. When I told those eight phlegmatic souls I was going, they all said, so. Much as they had said, so, to every previous remark I had been moved to make to them. So is capital garnishing. It viewed as a staple of conversation I find it a trifle vapid, not to say monotonous. I set out on my wanderings, therefore, to go round the world on my own account, and my own manatee, which last I grew to love in time with a love passing the love of Mr. Cyrus Hitchcock. I carried the strictly necessary before me in a small waterproof bicycling valise, but I sent on the portmanteau containing my whole estate, real and personal, to some point in advance which I hoped to reach from time to time in a day or two. My first day's journey was along a pleasant road from Frankfurt to Heidelberg, some fifty-four miles in all, skirting the mountains the greater part of the way. The manatee took the ups and downs so easily that I diverged at intervals to choose side-paths over the wooded hills. I arrived at Heidelberg as fresh as a daisy, my mount not having turned a hair, meanwhile. A favourite expression of cyclists, which carries all the more conviction to an impartial mind, because of the machine being obviously hairless. Thence I journeyed on by easy stages to Karlsru, Baden, Appenwehr, and Offenberg, where I set my front wheel resolutely for the black forest. It is the prettiest and most picturesque route to Switzerland. And being also the hilliest, it would afford me, I thought, the best opportunity for showing off the manatee's paces, and trying my prentice-hand as an amateur cycle-agent. From the quaint little black eagle at Offenberg, however, before I dashed into the forest, I sent off a letter to Elsie Pethridge, setting forth my lovely scheme for her summer holidays. She was delicate, poor child, and the London winters sorely tried her. I was now a millionaire, with the better part of fifty pounds in my pocket, so I felt I could afford to be royal in my hospitality. As I was leaving Frankfurt, I had called at a tourist agency and bought a second-class circular ticket from London to Lucerne and back. I made it second-class because I am opposed on principle to excessive luxury, and also because it was three guineas cheaper. Even fifty pounds will not last forever, though I could scarcely believe it. You see, I am not wholly free, after all, from the besetting British vice of prudence. It was a mighty joy to me to be able to send this ticket to Elsie at her lodgings in Bayswater, pointing out to her that now the whole mischief was done, and that if she would not come out as soon as her summer vacation began—it was a point of honour with Elsie to say vacation, instead of holidays—to join me at Lucerne and to stop with me as my guest at a mountain-pension, the ticket would be wasted. I love burning my boats, to the only safe way for securing prompt action. Then I turned my flying wheels up into the black forest, growing weary of my loneliness, for it is not all jam to ride by oneself in Germany, and longing for Elsie to come out and join me. I loved to think how her dear pale cheeks would gain colour and tone on the hills about the Brunegg, where, for business reasons, so I said to myself with the conscious pride of the commission agent, I proposed to pass the greater part of the summer. From Offenberg to Hornberg the road makes a good, stiff climb of twenty-seven miles, and some twelve hundred English feet in altitude, with a fair number of minor undulations on the way to diversify it. I will not describe the route, though it is one of the most beautiful I have ever travelled. Rocky hills, ruined castles, huge straight-stemmed pines that clamber up green slopes, or halt in somber line against steeps of broken crag. The reality surpasses my poor powers of description, and the people I passed on the road were almost as quaint and picturesque in their way as the hills and the villages. The men in red-lined jackets, the women in black petticoats, short-waisted green bodices, and broad-brimmed straw hats with black and crimson pompons. But on the steepest gradient, just before reaching Hornberg, I got my first nibble, strange to say, from two German students. They wore Heidelberg caps, and were toiling up the incline with short, broken wind. I put on a spurt with the Manitou and passed them easily. I did it just at first in pure wantonness of health and strength. But the moment I was clear of them, it occurred to the business half of me that here was a good chance of taking an order. Filled with this bright idea, I dismounted near the summit, and pretended to be engaged in lubricating my bearings. Those matter fact the Manitou runs in a bath of oil, self-feeding, and needs no looking after. Presently my two Heidelbergers straggled up, hot, dusty, panting. Womanlike I pretended to take no notice. One of them drew near and cast an eye on the Manitou. That's a new machine, Frau Lein, he said at last with more politeness than I expected. It is, I answered casually, the latest model, climbs hills like no other. And I feigned to mount and glide off towards Hornberg. Stop a moment, pray, Frau Lein, my prospective buyer called out. Dear Heinrich, I wish you this new, so excellent mountain-climbing machine, without chain propelled, more fully to investigate. I am going on to Hornberg, I said, with mixed feminine guile and commercial strategy. Still, if your friend wishes to look. They both jostled round it, with aches innumerable, and, after my new inspection, pronounced its principal, Wunderschön. Might I essay it? Heinrich asked. Oh, by all means, I answered. He paced it downhill a few yards, then skimmed up again. It is a bird, he cried to his friend, with many guttural interjections. Like the eagle's flight so soars it. Come, try the thing, Ludwig. You permit, Frau Lein? I nodded. They both mounted it several times. It behaved like a beauty. Then one of them asked. And where can man of this new, so remarkable machine nearest by purchase himself make possessor? I am the sole agent, I burst out with swelling dignity. If you will give me your orders, with cash in hand for the amount, I will send the cycle carriage-paid to any address you desire in Germany. You, they exclaimed incredulously, the frailine is pleased to be humorous. Oh, very well, I answered, vaulting into the saddle. If you choose to doubt my word. I waved one careless hand and coasted off. Good morning, Meinherren. They lumbered after me on their ram-shackle traction engines. Pardon, frailine, do not thus go away, oblige us at least with the name and address of the maker. I propended, like the hare-over-superintendant at Frankfurt. Look here, I said at last, telling the truth with frankness. I get twenty-five percent on all bicycles I sell. I am, as I say, the maker's sole agent. If you order through me I touch my profit, if otherwise I do not. Still, since you seem to be gentlemen—they bowed and swelled visibly—I will give you the address of the firm, trusting to your honour to mention my name. I handed them a card. If you decide on ordering. The price of the palfrey is four hundred marks. It is worth every finnig of it. And before they could say more, I had spurred my steed and swept off at full speed round a curve of the highway. I penciled a note to my American that night from Hornberg, detailing the circumstance. But I am sorry to say, for the discredit of humanity, that when those two students wrote the same evening from their inn in the village, to order manatews, they did not mention my name, doubtless under the misconception that by suppressing it they would save my commission. However, it gives me pleasure to add, per contra, as we say in business, that when I arrived at Lucerne a week or so later I found a letter, post-restaunt, from Mr. Cyrus Hitchcock, in closing an English ten-pound note. He wrote that he had received two orders for manatews from Hornberg, and, feeling considerable confidence that these must necessarily originate, from my German students, he had the pleasure of forwarding me what he hoped would be the first of many similar commissions. I will not describe my further adventures on the still steeper mountain road from Hornberg to Triberg and St. Georgian, how I got bites on the way from an English curate, an Austrian hazaar, and two unprotected American ladies, nor how I angled for them all by riding my machine up impossible hills, and then reclining gracefully to eat my lunch, three times in one day, on mossy banks at the summit. I felt a perfect little hypocrite, but Mr. Hitchcock had remarked that business is business, and I will only add, in confirmation of his view, that by the time I reached Lucerne I had sown the good seed in fifteen separate human souls, no less than four of which brought forth fruit in orders for manatews before the end of the season. I had now so little fear what the morrow might bring forth that I settled down in a comfortable hotel at Lucerne till Elsie's holidays began, and amused myself meanwhile by picking out the hilliest roads I could find in the neighbourhood, in order to display my steel steed's possibilities to the best advantage. By the end of July little Elsie joined me. She was half angry at first that I should have forced the ticket and my hospitality upon her. Nonsense, dear, I said, smoothing her hair, for her pale face quite frightened me. That is the good of a friend if she will not allow you to do her little favours. But brownie, you said you wouldn't stop and be dependent upon me one day longer than was necessary in London. That was different, I cried. That was me. This is you. I am a great, strong, healthy thing, fit to fight the battle of life and take care of myself. You, Elsie, are one of those fragile little flowers which tis everybody's duty to protect and to care for. She would have protested more, but I stifled her mouth with kisses. Indeed for nothing did I rejoice in my prosperity so much as for the chance it gave me of helping poor, dear, overworked, overwrought, Elsie. We took up our quarters thence forth at a high-perched little guest-house near the top of the Brunig. It was bracing for Elsie, and it lay close to a tourist-track where I could spread my snares and exhibit the manitou in its true colours to many passing visitors. Elsie tried it and found she could ride on it with ease. She wished she had one of her own. A bright idea struck me. In fear and trembling I wrote, suggesting to Mr. Hitchcock that I had a girlfriend from England stopping with me in Switzerland, and that two manitou's would surely be better than one as an advertisement. I confess I stood aghast at my own cheek, but my hand, I fear, was rapidly growing, subdued to that it worked in. Anyhow I sent the letter off and waited developments. By return of post came an answer from my American. Dear Miss, by rail herewith please receive one lady's number four automatic quadruple-geared self-feeding manitou as per your esteemed favour of July 27th, for which I desire to thank you. The more I see of your way of doing business, the more I do admire you. This is an elegant poster. Two high-toned English ladies mounted on manitou's, careering up the Alps, represent to both of us quite a mint of money. The mutual benefit to me, to you, and to the other lady ought to be simply incalculable. I shall be pleased at any time to hear of any further developments of your very remarkable advertising skill, and I am obliged to you for this brilliant suggestion you have been good enough to make to me. Respectfully, Cyrus W. Hitchcock. What! Am I to have it for nothing, brownie? Elsie exclaimed, bewildered, when I read the letter to her. I assumed the heirs of a woman of the world. Why, certainly, my dear, I answered, as if I always expected, to find bicycles showered upon me. It is a mutual arrangement, benefits him, benefits you. Reciprocity is the groundwork of business. He gets the advertisement, you get the amusement. It's a form of hand-bill, like the ladies who exhibit their back hair, don't you know, in that window in Regent Street. Thus, inexpensively mounted, we scoured the country together, up the steepest hills between Stanstatt and Myringen. We had lots of nibbles. One lady in particular often stopped to look on and admire the manitou. She was a nice-looking widow of forty-five, very fresh and round-faced, a Mrs. Everly, we soon found out, who owned a charming chalet on the hills above, Longerne. She spoke to us more than once. What a perfect deer of a machine! She cried. I wonder if I dare try it. Can you cycle, I asked. I could once, she answered. I was awfully fond of it, but Dr. Fortescue Langley won't let me any longer. Try it, I said, dismounting. She got up and rowed. Oh, isn't it just lovely? She cried ecstatically. By one, I put in, they're as smooth as silk, they cost only twenty pounds, and on every machine I sell I get five pounds commission. I should love to, she answered, but Dr. Fortescue Langley. Who is he, I asked. I don't believe in drug drenters. She looked quite shocked. Oh, he's not that kind, you know, she put in breathlessly. He's the celebrated esoteric faith-healer. He won't let me move far away from Longerne, though I'm longing to be off to England again for the summer. My boy's at Portsmouth. Then why don't you disobey him? Her face was a study. I dare not, she answered in an awestruck voice. He comes here every summer, and he does me so much good, you know. He diagnoses my inner self. He treats me psychically. When my inner self goes wrong, my bangle turns dusky. She held up her right hand with an Indian silver bangle on it, and sure enough it was tarnished with a very thin black deposit. My soul is ailing now," she said in a comically serious voice, but it is seldom so in Switzerland. The moment I land in England the bangle turns black and remains black till I get back to Lucerne again. When she had gone I said to Elsie, that is odd about the bangle. State of health might affect it, I suppose, though it looks to me like a surface deposit of sulfide. I knew nothing of chemistry, I admit, but I had sometimes messed about in the laboratory at college with some of the other girls, and I remembered now that sulfide of silver was a blackish-looking body, like the film on the bangle. However, at the time I thought no more about it. By dint of stopping and talking we soon got quite intimate with Mrs. Everly. As always happens I found out I had known some of her cousins in Edinburgh, where I always spent my holidays while I was at Gerton. She took an interest in what she was kind enough to call my originality, and before a fortnight was out, our hotel being uncomfortably crowded, she had invited Elsie and myself to stop with her at the chalet. We went and found it a delightful little home. Mrs. Everly was charming, but we could see at every turn that Dr. Fortescu Langley had acquired a firm hold over her. He's so clever, you know, she said, and so spiritual. He exercises such strong, odyllic force he binds my being together. If he misses a visit I feel my inner self goes all to pieces. Does he come often, I asked, growing interested. Oh, dear, no, she answered. I wish he did. It would be ever so good for me. But he's so much run after. I am but one among many. He lives at Chateau d'Ex, and comes across to see patients in this district once a fortnight. It is a privilege to be attended by an intuitive seer like Dr. Fortescu Langley. Mrs. Everly was rich, left comfortably, as the phrase goes, but with applause which prevented her marrying again without losing her fortune. And I could gather from various hints that Dr. Fortescu Langley, whoever he might be, is bleeding her to some tune, using her soul and her inner self as his financial lancet. I also noticed that what she said about the bangle was strictly true, generally bright as a new pin, on certain mornings it was completely blackened. I had been at the chalet ten days, however, before I began to suspect the real reason. Then it dawned upon me one morning in a flash of inspiration. The evening before had been cold, for at the height where we were perched, even in August, we often found the temperature chilly in the night, and I heard Mrs. Everly tell Cecile, her maid, to fill the hot water-bottle. It was a small point, but it somehow went home to me. Last day the bangle was black, and Mrs. Everly lamented that her inner self must be suffering from an attack of evil vapours. I held my peace at the time, but I asked Cecile a little later to bring me that hot water-bottle. As I more than half suspected it was made of India rubber, wrapped carefully up in the usual red flannel bag. Lend me your brooch, Elsie, I said. I want to try a little experiment. Won't a frank do as well? Elsie asked, tendering one. That's equally silver. I think not, I answered. A frank is most likely too hard. It has base metal to alloy it. But I will vary the experiment by trying both together. Your brooch is Indian, and therefore soft silver. The native jewellers never use alloy. Hand it over. It will clean with a little plate-powder, if necessary. I'm going to see what blackens Mrs. Everly's bangle. I laid the frank and the brooch on the bottle, filled with hot water, and placed them for warmth in the fold of a blanket. After de Journay we inspected them. As I anticipated the brooch had grown black on the surface with a thin, iridescent layer of silver sulphide, while the frank had hardly suffered at all from the exposure. I called in Mrs. Everly and explained what I had done. She was astonished and half incredulous. How could you ever think of it? She cried admiringly. Why I was reading an article yesterday about India rubber in one of your magazines, I answered, and the person who wrote it said the raw gum was hardened for vulcanising by mixing it with sulphur. When I heard you ask Cecile for the hot water bottle I thought at once, the sulphur and the heat account for the tarnishing of Mrs. Everly's bangle. And the frank doesn't tarnish. And that must be why my other silver bracelet, which is English make and harder, never changes colour. And Dr. Fortescue Langley assured me it was because the soft one was of Indian metal and had mystic symbols on it, symbols that answered to the cardinal moods of my subconscious self and that darkened in sympathy. I jumped at a clue. He talked about your subconscious self. I broke in. Yes, she answered. He always does. It's the key note of his system. He heals by that alone. But my dear, after this, how can I ever believe in him? Does he know about the hot water bottle? I asked. Oh yes, he ordered me to use it on certain nights. And when I go to England he says I must never be without one. I see now that was why my inner self invariably went wrong in England. It was all just the sulphur blackening the bangle. I reflected. A middle-aged man, I asked, stout, diplomatic looking with wrinkles round his eyes, and a distinguished grey moustache twirled up oddly at the corners. That's the man, my dear, his very picture. Where on earth have you seen him? And he talks of subconscious selves, I went on. He practices on that basis. He says it's no use prescribing for the outer man. To do that is to treat mere symptoms. The subconscious self is the inner seat of diseases. How long has he been in Switzerland? Oh, he comes here every year. He arrived this season late in May, I fancy. When will he visit you again, Mrs. Everly? Tomorrow morning. I made up my mind at once. Then I must see him without being seen, I said. I think I know him. He is our count, I believe. For I had told Mrs. Everly and Elsie the queer story of my journey from London. Impossible, my dear, impossible! I have implicit faith in him. Wait and see, Mrs. Everly. You acknowledge that he duped you over the affair of the bangle. There are two kinds of dupes. One kind, the commonest, goes on believing in its deceiver, no matter what happens. The other, far rarer, has the sense to know it has been deceived if you make the deception as clear as day to it. Mrs. Everly was, fortunately, of the rarer class. Last morning Dr. Fortescue Langley arrived by appointment. As he walked up the path I glanced at him from my window. It was the count, not a doubt of it. On his way to gull his dupes in Switzerland he had tried to throw in an incidental trifle of a diamond robbery. I telegraphed the facts at once to Lady Georgina at Schlangenbad. She answered, I am coming. Ask the man to meet his friend on Wednesday. Mrs. Everly, now almost convinced, invited him. On Wednesday morning, with a bounce, Lady Georgina burst in upon us. My dear, such a journey, alone at my age! But there I haven't known a happy day since you left me. Oh, yes, I got my Gretchen. Unsophisticated? Well— That's not the word for it. I declare to you, Lois, there isn't a trick of the trade in Paris or London, not a perquisite or a tip that that girl isn't up to. Comes straight from the remotest recesses of the black forest, and hadn't been with me a week, I assure you, on her bright, before she was bandolining her yellow hair and rouging her cheeks and wearing my brooches and wagering gloves with the hotel waiters upon the baddened races. And her language, and her manners! Why weren't you born in that station of life, I wonder, child, so that I might offer you five hundred a year, and all found, to come and live with me for ever? But this Gretchen, her fringe, her shoes, her ribbons, upon my soul, my dear, I don't know what girls are coming to nowadays. Ask Mrs. Lynn Linton, I suggested, as she paused, she is a recognized authority on the subject. The cantankerous old lady stared at me. And this count, she went on, so you have really tracked him? You're a wonderful girl, my dear, I wish you were a lady's maid, you'd be worth me any money. I explained how I had come to hear of Dr. Fortescue Langley. Lady Georgina waxed warm. Dr. Fortescue Langley, she exclaimed, the wicked wretch, but he didn't get my diamonds. I've carried them here in my hands all the way from Vispaden. I wasn't going to leave them for a single day to the tender mercies of that unspeakable Gretchen. The fool would lose them. Well, we'll catch him this time, Lois, and we'll give him ten years for it. Ten years, Mrs. Everly cried, clasping her hands in horror. Oh, Lady Georgina! We waited in Mrs. Everly's dining-room, the old lady and I, behind the folding doors. At three, precisely, Dr. Fortescue Langley walked in. I had difficulty in restraining Lady Georgina from falling upon him prematurely. He talked a lot of high-flown nonsense to Mrs. Everly and Elsie about the influences of the planets and the seventy-five emanations and the eternal wisdom of the East and the medical efficacy of subconscious suggestion. Excellent patter, all of it, quite as good in its way as the diplomatic patter he had poured forth in the train to Lady Georgina. It was rich in spheres, in elements, in cosmic forces. At last, as he was discussing the reciprocal action of the inner self upon the exhalations of the lungs, we pushed back the door and walked calmly in upon him. His breath came and went. The exhalations of the lungs showed visible perturbation. He rose and stared at us. For a second he lost his composure. Then as bold as brass he turned with a cunning smile to Mrs. Everly. Where on earth did you pick up such acquaintances? He inquired in a well-simulated tone of surprise. Yes, Lady Georgina, I have met you before, I admit, but it can hardly be agreeable to you to reflect under what circumstances. Lady Georgina was beside herself. You dare, she cried, confronting him, you dare to brazen it out, you miserable sneak! But you can't bluff me now, I have the police outside. Which I regret to confess was a light-hearted fiction. The police, he echoed, drawing back. I could see he was frightened. I had an inspiration again. Take off that moustache! I said calmly, in my most commanding voice. He clapped his hand to it in horror. In his agitation he managed to pull it a little bit awry. It looked so absurd, hanging there all crooked, that I thought it kinder to him to remove it altogether. The thing peeled off with difficulty, for it was a work of art, very firmly and gracefully fastened with sticking plaster. But it peeled off at last, and with it the whole of the counts and Dr. Fortescue Langley's distinction. The man stood revealed, a very palpable man-servant. Lady Georgina stared hard at him. Where have I seen you before? She murmured slowly. That face is familiar to me. Why, yes! You went once to Italy as Mr. Marmaduke Ashhurst's courier. I know you now. Your name is Higginson. It was a come-down for the Count de la Roche-sur-Loire, but he swallowed it like a man at a single gulp. Yes, my lady, he said, fingering his hat nervously, now all was up. You are quite right, my lady, but what would you have me do? Times are hard on us couriers. Nobody wants us now. I must take to what I can. He assumed once more the tone of the Vienna diplomat. K'voulez-vous, madame? These are revolutionary days. A man of intelligence must move with the zeitgeist. Lady Georgina burst into a loud laugh, and to think, she cried, that I talk to this lackey from London to Maline without ever suspecting him. Higginson, you're a fraud, but you're a precious, clever one. He bowed. I am happy to have merited Lady Georgina Foulez's commendation. He answered, with his palm on his heart, in his grandiose manner. But I shall hand you over to the police all the same. You are a thief and a swindler. He assumed a comic expression. Unhappily not a thief, he objected. This young lady prevented me from appropriating your diamonds. Convey, the wise call it. I wanted to take your jewel case, and she put me off with a sandwich tin. I wanted to make an honest penny out of Mrs. Everly, and she confronts me with your ladyship and tears my mustache off. Lady Georgina regarded him with a hesitating expression. But I shall call the police, she said, wavering visibly. Degrasse, my lady, degrasse. Is it worth while? Poor sea-poudre-shares, consider I have really affected nothing. Will you charge me with having taken, in error, a small tin sandwich case, value eleven pence, and a fare of a week's imprisonment? That is positively all you can bring up against me. And, brightening up visibly, I have the case still. I will return it to-morrow with pleasure to your ladyship. But the India rubber water-bottle, I put in, you have been deceiving Mrs. Everly. It blackens silver, and you told her lies in order to extort money under false pretenses. He shrugged his shoulders. You are too clever for me, young lady, he broke out. I have nothing to say to you. Let Lady Georgina, Mrs. Everly, you are human, let me go. Reflect. I have things I could tell that would make both of you look ridiculous. That journey to Maline, Lady Georgina, those Indian charms, Mrs. Everly, besides, you have spoiled my game, let that suffice you. I can practice in Switzerland no longer. Allow me to go in peace, and I will try once more to be indifferent honest." He backed slowly towards the door with his eyes fixed on them. I stood by and waited. Inch by inch he retreated. Lady Georgina looked down abstractedly at the carpet. Mrs. Everly looked up abstractedly at the ceiling. Neither spoke another word. The rogue backed out by degrees. Then he sprang downstairs, and before they could decide, was well out into the open. Lady Georgina was the first to break the silence. After all, my dear, she murmured, turning to me. There was a deal of sound English common sense about Dogbury. I remembered then his charge to the watch to apprehend a rogue. Now if I will not stand. Why then take no note of him but let him go, and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a nave. When I remembered how Lady Georgina had hobnobbed with the count from Ostend to Maline, I agreed to a great extent both with her and with Dogbury. End of Chapter 4. The Amateur Commission Agent