 Chapter 9 of An African Millionaire, Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay. An African Millionaire, Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay by Grant Allen. Chapter 9. The Episode of the Japan Dispatch Box. See, my brother-in-law said next spring, I am sick and tired of London. Let's shoulder our wallets at once, and I will to some distant land where no man doth me know. Mars or Mercury? I inquired. For in our own particular planet, I'm afraid you'll find it just a trifle difficult for Sir Charles Van Drift to hide his light under a bushel. Oh, I'll manage it, Charles answered. What's the good of being a millionaire, I should like to know, if you're always obliged to behave as such? I shall travel in Cork. I'm dog-tired of being dogged by these endless imposters. And indeed we had passed through a most painful winter. Colonel Clay had stopped away for some months, it is true, and for my own part I will confess, since it wasn't my place to pay the piper, I rather missed the wanted excitement than otherwise. But Charles had grown horribly and morbidly suspicious. He carried out his principle of distrusting everybody and disbelieving everything till life was a burden to him. He spotted impossible Colonel Clay's under a thousand disguises. He was quite convinced he had frightened his enemy away at least a dozen times over, beneath the varying garb of a fat club waiter, a tall policeman, a washerwoman's boy, a solicitor's clerk, the Bank of England Beedle, and the collector of water rates. He saw him as constantly, and in as changeful forms, as medieval saints used to see the devil. Amelia and I really began to fear for the stability of that splendid intellect, before saw that, unless the Colonel Clay nuisance could be abated somehow, Charles might sink by degrees to the mental level of a common or ordinary stock exchange plunger. So, when my brother-in-law announced his intention of going away in cog to parts unknown on the succeeding Saturday, Amelia and I felt a flush of relief from long-continued tension, especially Amelia, who was not going with him. For rest and quiet, he said to us at breakfast, laying down the morning post, give me the deck of an Atlantic liner, no letters, no telegrams, no stocks, no shares, no tines, no Saturday. I'm sick of these papers. The world is too much with us, I assented cheerfully. I agreed to say nobody appreciated the point of my quotation. Charles took infinite pains, I must admit, to ensure perfect secrecy. He made me write and secure the best staterooms, main deck, midchips, under my own name, without mentioning his in the truria for New York on her very next voyage. He spoke of his destination to nobody but Amelia, and Amelia warned Césarine, under pains and penalties, on no account to betray it to the other servants. Further to secure his incog, Charles assumed the style and title of Mr. Peter Porter, and booked as such in the itruria at Liverpool. The day before starting, however, he went down with me to the city for an interview with his brokers in Adams Court, Old Broad Street. Fingalmore, the senior partner, hastened, of course, to receive us. As we entered his private room, a good-looking young man rose and lounged out. Hello, Fingalmore, Charles said. That's that scamp of a brother of yours. I thought you had shipped him off years and years ago to China. So I did, Sir Charles, Fingalmore answered, rubbing his hands somewhat nervously. But he never went there. Being an idle young dog with a taste for amusement he got for the time no further than Paris. Since then he's hung about a bit here, there, and everywhere, and done no particular good for himself or his family. But about three or four years ago he somehow struck Isle. He went to South Africa, poaching on your preserves, and now he's back again, rich, married, and respectable. His wife, a nice little woman, has reformed him. Well, what can I do for you this morning? Charles has large interests in America, in Santa Fe, and Topicas, and other big concerns, and he insisted on taking out several documents and vouchers connected in various ways with his widespread ventures there. He meant to go, he said, for complete rest and change on a general tour of private inquiry, New York, Chicago, Colorado, the mining districts. It was a millionaire's holiday. So he took all these valuables in a black Japan dispatch box, which he guarded like a child with absurd precautions. He never allowed that box out of his sight one moment, and he gave me no peace as to its safety and integrity. It was a perfect fetish. We must be cautious, he said, see, cautious, especially in travelling. Recollect how that little curate spirited the diamonds out of Amelia's jewel case. I shall not let this box out of my sight. I shall stick to it myself if we go to the bottom. We did not go to the bottom. It is the proud boast of the Kunard Company that it has never lost a passenger's life, and the captain would not consent to send the atraria to Davy Jones's locker merely in order to give Charles a chance of sticking to his dispatch box under trying circumstances. On the contrary, we had a delightful and uneventful passage, and we found our fellow passenger's most agreeable people. Charles, as Mr. Peter Porter, being freed for the moment from his terror of Colonel Clay, would have felt really happy, I believe, had it not been for the dispatch box. He made friends from the first hour. Quite after the fearless old fashion of the days before Colonel Clay had begun to imbite a life for him, with a nice American doctor and his charming wife on their way back to Kentucky, Dr. Elihu Quackenbos, that was his characteristically American name, had been studying medicine for a year in Vienna, and was now returning to his native state, with a brain close crammed with all the latest bacteriological and antiseptic discoveries. His wife, a pretty and picant little American, with a tip-tilted nose and a quaint sharpness of her countrywomen, amused Charles not a little. The funny way in which he would make room for him by her side on the bench on deck and say, with a sweet smile, you sit right here, Mr. Porter, the sun's just elegant, delighted and flattered him. He was proud to find out that female attention was not always due to his wealth and title, and that plain Mr. Porter could command on his merits the same amount of blandishments as Sir Charles Van Drift, the famous millionaire on his South African celebrity. During the whole of that voyage it was Mrs. Quackenbos here and Mrs. Quackenbos there, and Mrs. Quackenbos the other place. Till, for Amelia's sake, I was glad she was not on board to witness it. Long before we sighted Sandy Hook, I will admit I was fairly sick of Charles's two-stringed tarp, Mrs. Quackenbos and the dispatch box. Mrs. Quackenbos it turned out was an amateur artist, and she painted Sir Charles, on calm days on deck, in all possible attitudes. She seemed to find him a most attractive model. The Doctor II was a precious, clever fellow. He knew something of chemistry, and of most other subjects, including, as I gathered, the human character. For he talked to Charles about various ideas of his, with which he wished to liven up folks in Kentucky a bit, on his return till Charles conceived the highest possible regard for his intelligence and enterprise. That's a go-ahead fellow, see, he remarked to me one day, has the right sort of grit in him. Those Americans are the men, wish I had around hundred of them on my work since South Africa. That idea seemed to grow upon him. He was immensely taken with it. He had lately dismissed one of his chief superintendents at the Clotidorp mine, and he seriously debated whether or not he should offer the post to the smart Kentuckian. For my own part, I am inclined to connect this fact with his expressed determination to visit his South African undertakings for three months yearly in future, and I am driven to suspect he felt life at Clotidorp would be rendered much more tolerable by the agreeable society of a quaint and amusing American lady. If you offer it to him, I said, remember you must disclose your personality. Not at all, Charles answered. I can keep it dark for the present, till all is arranged for. I need only say I have interests in South Africa. So, one morning on deck, as we were approaching the banks, he broached his scheme gently to the doctor and Mrs. Quackenbos. He remarked that he was connected with one of the biggest financial concerns in the Southern Hemisphere, and that he would pay Elihu fifteen hundred a year to represent him at the Diggings. What, dollars? The lady said, smiling and accentuating the tip-tilted nose a little more. Oh, Mr. Porter, it ain't good enough. No, pounds, my dear madam, Charles responded, pounds sterling, you know, in the United States currency, seven thousand five hundred. I guess Elihu would just jump at it, Mrs. Quackenbos replied, looking at him quizzically. The doctor laughed. You make a good bid, sir, he said in his slow American way, emphasizing all the most unimportant words. But you overlook one element. I am a man of science, not a speculator. I have trained myself for medical work at considerable cost in the best schools of Europe, and I do not propose to fling away the results of much arduous labor by throwing myself out elastically into a new line of work for which my faculties may not perhaps equally adapt me. How thoroughly American, I murmured in the background. Charles insisted. All in vain. Mrs. Quackenbos was impressed, but the doctor smiled always a sphinx-like smile and reiterated his belief in the unfitness of midstream as an ideal place for swapping horses. The more he declined and the better he talked, the more eager Charles became each day to secure him. And, as he found purpose to draw him on, the doctor each day gave more and more surprising proofs of his practical abilities. I am not a specialist, he said. I just catch the drift, appropriate the kernel, and let the rest slide. He could do anything, it really seemed, from shooing a mule to conducting a camp meeting. He was a capital chemist, a very sound surgeon, a fair judge of horse-flesh, a first-class Yukar player, and a pleasing baritone. When occasion demanded he could occupy a pulpit, he invented a corkscrew which brought him in a small revenue, and he was now engaged in the translation of a Polish work on the application of hydrosyanic acid to the cure of leprosy. Still, we reached New York without having got any nearer our goal, as regarded Dr. Quackenbos. He came to bid us goodbye at the key, with that sphinx-like smile still playing upon his features. Charles clutched a dispatch box with one hand and Mrs. Quackenbos' little palm with the other. Don't tell us, he said. This is goodbye, forever. And his voice quite faltered. I guess so, Mr. Porter, the pretty American replied, with a telling glance. What hotel do you patronize? The Murray Hill, Charles responded. Oh, my, ain't that odd, Mrs. Quackenbos echoed. The Murray Hill, why, that's just where we're going to, Eli, who? The upshot of which was that Charles persuaded them, before returning to Kentucky, to diverge for a few days with us to Lake George and Lake Champlain, where he hoped to over-persuade the recalcitrant doctor. To Lake George, therefore, we went and stopped at the excellent hotel at the terminus of the railway. We spent a good deal of our time on the light little steamers that ply between that point and the road to Sikonderoga. Somehow the mountains mirrored in the deep green water reminded me of Lucerne, and Lucerne reminded me of the little curate. For the first time, since we left England, a vague terror seized me. Could Eli, who Quackenbos, speak Colonel Clay again, still dogging our steps through the opposite continent? I could not help mentioning my suspicion to Charles, who, strange to say, poo-pooed it. He had been paying great court to Mrs. Quackenbos that day, and was absurdly elated because the little American had wrapped his knuckles with her fan and called him real silly. Next day, however, an odd thing occurred. We strolled out together, all four of us, along the banks of the lake, among woods just carpeted with strange, triangular flowers. Trilliums, Mrs. Quackenbos called them, and lined with delicate ferns and the first green of springtide. I began to grow poetical. I wrote verses in my youth before I went to South Africa. We threw ourselves on the grass, near a small mountain stream that descended among moss-clad boulders from the steep woods above us. The Kentuckian flung himself at full length on the sword, just in front of Charles. He had a strange head of hair, very thick and chaggy. I don't know why, but, of a sudden, it reminded me of the Mexican seer whom we had learnt to remember as Colonel Clay's first embodiment. At the same moment, the same thought seemed to run through Charles's head, for, as strange to say, with a quick impulse he leaned forward and examined it. I saw Mrs. Quackenbos draw back in wonder. The hair looked too thick and close for nature. It ended abruptly, I now remembered, with a sharp line on the forehead. Could this, too, be weak? It seemed very probable. Even as I thought that thought, Charles appeared to form a sudden and resolute determination. With one lightning swoop he seized the doctor's hair in his powerful hand and tried to lift it off bodily. He had made a bad guess. Next instant the doctor uttered a loud and terrified howl of pain, while several of his hairs, root and all, came out of his scalp in Charles's hand, leaving a few drops of blood on the skin of the head and the place they were torn from. There was no doubt at all it was not a wig, but the Kentuckian's natural her suit covering. The scene that ensued I am powerless to describe. My pen is unequal to it. The doctor arose not so much angry as astonished, white and incredulous. What did you do that for, anyway? He asked, glaring fiercely at my brother-in-law. Charles was all object apology. He began by profusely expressing his regret and offering to make any suitable reparation monetary or otherwise. Then he revealed his whole hand. He admitted that he was Sir Charles Van Drift, the famous millionaire, and that he had suffered egregiously from the endless machinations of a certain Colonel Clay, a Machiavellian rogue, who had hounded him relentlessly through the capitals of Europe. He described in graphic detail how the imposter got himself up with wigs and wax, so as to deceive even those who knew him intimately, and then he threw himself on Dr. Quackenbos' mercy, as a man who had been cruelly taken in so often that he could not help suspecting the best of men falsely. Mrs. Quackenbos admitted it was natural to have suspicions. Especially, she said, with candour, as you are not the first to observe the notable way Elihu's hair seems to originate from his forehead, and she pulled it up to show us. But Elihu himself sulked on in the dumps. His dignity was offended. If you wanted to know, he said, you might as well have asked me. Assault and battery is not the right way to test whether ace citizen's hair is primitive or acquired. It was an impulse, Charles pleaded, an instinctive impulse. Civilized man restrains his impulses, the doctor answered. You have lived too long in South Africa, Mr. Porter. I mean Sir Charles Van Drift, if that's the right way to address such a gentleman. You appear to have imbibed the habits and manners of the cafiers you lived among. For the next two days, I will really admit Charles seemed more wretched than I could have believed it possible for him to be on somebody else's account. He positively groveled. The fact was, he saw he had heard Dr. Quackenbos's feelings, and, much to my surprise, he seemed truly grieved at it. If the doctor would have accepted a thousand pounds down to shake hands at once and forget the incident, in my opinion Charles would have gladly paid it. Indeed, he said as much in other words to the pretty American, for he could not insult her by offering her money. Mrs. Quackenbos did her best to make it up, for she was a kindly little creature in spite of her rogueishness, but Elihoo stood aloof. Charles urged him still to go out to South Africa, increasing his bait to two thousand a year. Yet the doctor was immovable. No, no, he said. I had half decided to accept your offer till that unfortunate impulse, but that settled the question. As an American citizen I declined to become the representative of a British nobleman who takes such means off investigating questions which affect the hair and happiness of his fellow creatures. I don't know whether Charles was most disappointed at missing the chance of so clever a superintendent for the mine at Clotidorpe, or elated at the novel description of himself as a British nobleman, which is not precisely our English idea of a colonial knighthood. Three days later, accordingly, the Quackenbos has left the Lakeside Hotel. We were bound on an expedition up the lake ourselves, when a pretty little woman burst in with a dash to tell us they were leaving. She was charmingly got up in the neatest and completest of American travelling dresses. Charles held her hand affectionately. I'm sorry it's goodbye, he said. I have done my best to secure your husband. You couldn't have tried harder than I did, the little woman answered, and the tip-tilted nose looked quite pathetic, for I just hate to be buried right down there in Kentucky. However, Eli who is the sort of man a woman can neither drive nor lead, so we've got to put up with him. And she smiled upon us sweetly, and disappeared, forever. Charles was disconsolate all that day. Next morning he rose and announced his intention of setting out for the west on his tour of inspection. He would recreate by a reveling in Colorado silver loads. We packed our own portmanteaus, for Charles had not brought even Simpson with him, and then we prepared to set out by the morning train for Saratoga. Up until almost the last moment Charles nursed his dispatch box. But as the baggage-smasters were taking down our luggage and a chambermaid was lounging officiously about in search of a tip, he laid it down for a second or two on the centre table while he collected his other immediate impedimenta. He couldn't find his secret case and went back to the bedroom for it. I helped him hunt, but it had disappeared mysteriously. That moment lost him. When we had found the secret case and returned to the sitting-room, lo and behold the dispatch box was missing. Charles questioned the servants, but none of them had noticed it. He searched round the room, not a trace of it anywhere. Why? I laid it down here just two minutes ago. He cried, but it was not forthcoming. It'll turn up in time, I said. Everything turns up in the end, including Mrs. Quackenbos's nose. Seymour, said my brother-in-law, your hilarity is inopportune. To say the truth Charles was beside himself with anger. He took the elevator down to the bureau, as they call it, and complained to the manager. The manager, a sharp-faced New Yorker, smiled as he remarked in a nonchalant way that guests with valuables were required to leave them in charge of the management, in which case they were locked up in the safe and duly returned to the depositor on leaving. Charles declared somewhat excitedly that he had been robbed and demanded that nobody should be allowed to leave the hotel till the dispatch box was discovered. The manager, quite cool and obtrusively picking his teeth, responded that such tactics might be possible in an hotel of the European size, putting up a couple of hundred guests or so, but that an American house with over a thousand visitors, many of whom came and went daily, could not undertake such a quesotic quest on behalf of a single foreign complaint. That epithet, foreign, stung Charles to the quick. No Englishman can admit that he is anywhere a foreigner. Do you know who I am, sir? he asked angrily. I am Sir Charles Van Drift of London, a member of the English Parliament. You may be the Prince of Wales, the man answered, for all I care. You'll get the same treatment as anyone else in America. But if you're Sir Charles Van Drift, he went on examining his books, how does it come you've registered as Mr. Peter Porter? Charles grew red with embarrassment. The difficulty deepened. The dispatch box, always covered with a leather case, wore on its inner lid the name Sir Charles Van Drift, KCMG, distinctly painted in the orthodox white letters. This was a painful counter-tank. He had lost his precious documents, he had given a false name, and he had rendered the manager supremely careless whether or not he recovered his stolen property. Indeed, seeing he had registered as Porter, and now claimed as Van Drift, the manager hinted in pretty plain language he very much doubted whether there had ever been a dispatch box in the matter at all, or whether, if there were one, it had ever contained any valuable documents. We spent a wretched morning. Charles went round the hotel, questioning everybody as to whether they had seen his dispatch box. Most of the visitor resented the question as a personal imputation. One fiery Virginian, indeed, wanted to settle the point then and there with a six-shooter. Charles telegraphed to New York to prevent the shares and coupons from being negotiated, but his brokers telegraphed back that though they had stopped the numbers as far as possible, they did so with reluctance, as they were not aware of Sir Charles Van Drift being now in the country. Charles declared he wouldn't leave the hotel till he recovered his property, and for myself I was inclined to suppose we would have to remain there accordingly for the term of our natural lives, and longer. That night again we spent at the Lakeside Hotel. In the small hours of the morning, as I lay awake and meditated, a thought broke across me. I was so excited by it that I rose and rushed into my brother-in-law's bedroom. Charles, Charles, I exclaimed, we have taken too much for granted once more. Perhaps Enai, who quackenboss carried off your dispatch box? You fool! Charles answered in his most unamiable manner. He applies that word to me with increasing frequency. Is that what you've waked me up for? Why, the quackenbosses left Lake George on Tuesday morning, and I had the dispatch box in my own hands on Wednesday. We have only their word for it, I cried. Perhaps they stopped on and walked off with it afterwards. We will inquire tomorrow, Charles answered. But I confess I don't think it was worth waking me up for. I could stake my life on that little woman's integrity. We did inquire next morning, with this curious result. It turned out that, though the quackenbosses had left the Lakeside Hotel on Tuesday, it was only for the neighbouring Washington House, which they quitted on Wednesday morning, taking the same train for Saratoga, which Charles and I had intended to go by. Mrs. Quackenboss carried a small brown paper parcel in her hands, in which, under the circumstances, we had little difficulty in recognising Charles's dispatch box, loosely enveloped. Then I knew how it was done. The chambermaid, loitering about the room for a tip, was Mrs. Quackenboss. It needed but an apron to transform her pretty travelling dress into a chambermaid's costume, and in any of those huge American hotels, one chambermaid more or less would pass in the crowd without fear of challenge. We will follow them on to Saratoga, Charles cried. Pay the bill at once, see more? Certainly, I answered. Will you give me some money? Charles clapped his hands to his pockets. All, all in the dispatch box, he murmured. That tied us up another day, till we could get some ready cash from our agents in New York, for the manager, already most suspicious at the change of name and the accusation of theft, preemptorily refused to accept Charles's check, or anything else, as he phrased it, except hard money. So we lingered on perforce at Lake George in ignoble inaction. Of course, I observed to my brother-in-law that evening, Eli who quackenboss was Colonel Clay. I suppose so, Charles murmured resignedly. Everybody I meet seems to be Colonel Clay nowadays, except when I believe they are, in which case they turn out to be harmless nobodies. But who would have thought it was he after I pulled his hair out? Or after he persisted in his trick, even when I suspected him, which he told us at Seldon was against his first principles? A light dawned upon me again. But, warned by previous ebullitions, I expressed myself this time with becoming timidity. Charles, I suggested, may we not here again have been the slaves of a preconception? We thought Forbes Gaskell was Colonel Clay, for no better reason than because he wore a wig. We thought Eli who quackenboss wasn't Colonel Clay, for no better reason than because he didn't wear one. But how do we know he ever wears wigs? Isn't it possible, after all, that those hints he gave us about makeup when he was met her as the detective, were framed on purpose, so as to mislead and deceive us? And isn't it possible what he said of his methods at the Seamuse Island that day, was similarly designed in order to hoodwink us? That is so obvious, see, my brother-in-law observed in a most aggrieved tone, that I should have thought any secretary worth his salt would have arrived at it instantly. I abstained from remarking that Charles himself had not arrived at it, even now, until I told him. I thought that to say so would serve no good purpose. So I merely went on. Well, it seems to me likely that when he came as methurst, with his hair cut short, he was really wearing his own natural crop, in its simplest form and of its native hue. But now it has had time to grow long and bushy. When he was David Granton, no doubt, he clipped it to an intermediate length, trimmed his beard and moustache, and dyed them all red to a fine scotch colour. As the seer again, he wore his hair much the same as Elihoo's, only to suit the character more combed and fluffy. As the little curate, he darkened it and plastered it down. As von Liebenstein, he shaved close, but cultivated his moustache to its utmost dimensions, and dyed it black after the Tyrolyse fashion. He need never have had a wig. His own natural hair would throughout have been sufficient, allowing for intervals. You are right, see, my brother-in-law said, growing almost friendly. I will do you the justice to admit that's the nearest thing we have yet struck out to an idea for tracking him. On the Saturday morning a letter arrived which relieved us a little from our momentary tension. It was from our enemy himself, but most different in tone from his previous bantering communications. Saratoga, Friday. Sir Charles van Drift. Here with her return your dispatch box, intact, was the papers untouched, as you will readily observe it has not even been opened. You will ask me the reason for this strange conduct. Let me be serious for once and tell you truthfully. White Heather and I, for I will stick to Mr Wentworth's judicious sobriquet, came over on the atoria with you, intending as usual to make something out of you. We followed you to Lake George, for I had forced a card after my habitual plan by inducing you to invite us, with the fixed intention of playing a particular trick upon you. It formed no part of our original game to steal your dispatch box. That I consider a simple and elementary trick unworthy the skill of a practised operator. We persisted in the preparations for our coup till you pulled my hair out. Then, to my great surprise, I saw you exhibited a degree of regret and genuine compunction with which, till that moment, I could never have credited you. You thought you had hurt my feelings, and you behaved more like a gentleman than I had previously known you to do. You not only apologised, but you also endeavoured voluntarily to make reparation. That produced an effect upon me. You may not believe it, but I desisted accordingly from the trick I had prepared for you. I might also have accepted your offer to go to South America, where I could soon have cleared out, having embezzled thousands. But then I should have been in a position of trust and responsibility, and I am not quite rogue enough to rob you under those conditions. Whatever else I am, however, I am not a hypocrite. I do not pretend to be anything more than a common swindler. If I return you your papers intact, it is only on the same principle as that of the Australian Bush Ranger, who made a lady a present of her own watch, because she had sung to him and reminded him of England. In other words, he did not take it from her. In like manner, when I found you had behaved for once like a gentleman, contrary to my expectation, I declined to go on with the trick I then meditated, which does not mean to say I may not hear after play you some other. That will depend upon your future good behaviour. Why, then, did I get white heather to perloin your dispatch box with intent to return it out of pure lightness of heart? Not so, but in order to let you see I really meant it. If I had gone off with no swag and then written you this letter, you would not have believed me. You would have thought it was merely another of my failures. But when I have actually got all your papers into my hands and give them up again of my own free will, you must see that I mean it. I will end, as I began, seriously. My trade has not quite crushed out of me all gems or relics of better feeling, and when I see a millionaire behave like a man I feel ashamed to take advantage of that gleam of manliness. Yours with a tinge of penitence, but still a rogue, Cuthbert Clay. The first thing Charles did on receiving this strange communication was to bolt downstairs and inquire for the dispatch box. It had just arrived by Eagle Express Company. Charles rushed up to our rooms again, opened it feverishly, and counted his documents. When he found them all safe he turned to me with a hard smile. This letter, he said, with quivering lips I consider still more insulting than all his previous ones. But for myself I really thought there was a ring of truth about it. Colonel Clay was a rogue, no doubt, a most unblushing rogue, but even a rogue I believe has his better moments. And the phrase about the position of trust and responsibility touched Charles to the quick, I suppose, in ray the slump in clotted-op gold condos. Though, to be sure, it was a hit at me as well over the ten-percent commission. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of an African millionaire episodes in the life of the illustrious Colonel Clay. This is a LibriVox recording while LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Kirsten Weber. Chapter 10 of an African millionaire episodes in the life of the illustrious Colonel Clay by Grant Allen. The episode of the Game of Poker. Seymour, my brother-in-law set with a deep-drawn sigh as we left Lake George next day by the Rensselaer and Saratoga Railroad, no more Peter Porter for me, if you please. I'm sick of disguises. Now that we know Colonel Clay is here in America, they serve no good purpose. So I may as well receive the social consideration and proper respect to which my rank and position naturally entitle me and which they secure for the most part, except from hotel clerks, even in this Republican land, I answered to Briskley. For in my humble opinion, for sound copper-bottomed snobbery registered A1 at Lloyd's, give me the free-born American citizen. We traveled through the states accordingly for the next four months, from Maine to California and from Oregon to Florida, until our own true names, confirming the churches, as Charles facetiously put it, or in other words, looking into the management and control of railways, syndicates, mines, and cattle ranches. We inquired about everything, and the result of our investigations appeared to be, as Charles further remarked, that the Sabians, who so troubled the sons of Job, seemed to have migrated in a body to Kansas and Nebraska, and that several thousand head of cattle seemed mysteriously to vanish, a la Colonel Clay, into the pure air of the prairies, just before each branding. However, we were fortunate in avoiding the incursions of the Colonel himself, who must have migrated, meanwhile, on some enchanted carpet to other happy hunting grounds. It was chill October before we found ourselves safe back in New York, en route for England, so long a term of freedom from the Colonel's depredations, as Charles fondly imagined, but I will not anticipate, had done my brother-in-law's health and spirits a world of good. He was so lively and cheerful that he began to fancy his tormentor must have succumbed to yellow fever, then raging in New Orleans, or eaten himself ill, as we nearly did ourselves, on a generous mixture of clam chowder, terrapin, soft-shelled crabs, Jersey peaches, cantus-backed ducks, catabua wine, winter cherries, brandy cocktails, strawberry shortcake, ice creams, corn dodger, and a judicious brew commonly known as a Colorado corpse-reviver. However, that may be, Charles returned to New York in excellent trim, and, dreading in that great city the wiles of his antagonist, he cheerfully accepted the invitation of his brother-millionaire, Senator Rengold of Nevada, to spend a few days before sailing in the senator's magnificent and newly finished palace at the upper end of Fifth Avenue. There, at least, I shall be safe, see, he said to me plaintively, with a weary smile. Rengold at any rate won't try to take me in, except, of course, in the regular way of business. Boss Nugget Hall is perhaps the handsomest brownstone mansion in the Richard Sonian style on All Fifth Avenue. We spent a delightful week there. The lines had fallen to us in pleasant places. On the night we arrived, Rengold gave us a small bachelor party in our honor. He knew Sir Charles was travelling without Lady Van Drift, and rightly judged he would prefer on his first night an informal party than Charles, instead of being bothered with the charming, but still somewhat hampering addition of female society. The guests that evening were no more than seven all told, ourselves included, making up, Rengold said, that perfect number an octave. He was a nouveau riche himself, the newest of the new, New York society, as the gilded squatter, for he struck his reef no more than ten years ago. And he was therefore doubly anxious, after the American style, to be just dizzy with culture. In his capacity of Mycenaeus, he had Algernon Colillard, the famous poet, and leader of the Breyer Rose School of West Country Fiction. You know him in London, of course, he observed Charles with a smile, as we waited dinner for our guests. No, Charles answered, stolidly, I have not had that honour. We move, you see, in different circles. I observed by a curious shade which passed over Senator Rengold's face, that he quite misapprehended my brother-in-law's meaning. Charles wished in vain, of course, that Mr. Colillard belonged to a mere literary and bohemian set in London, while he himself moved on a more exalted plane of peers and politicians. But the Senator, better accustomed to the new rich point of view, understood Charles to mean that he had not the entree of that distinguished coterie in which Mr. Colillard was being luminary, which naturally made him rate even higher than before his literary acquisition. At two minutes past the hour the poet entered. We should have recognised him at once for a genuine bard by his impassioned eyes, his delicate mouth, the artistic twirl of one grey lock upon his expansive brow, the grizzled mustache that gave point and force to the genial smile and the two white rows of perfect teeth behind it. Most of our fellow guests had met Colillard before at a reception given by the Lotus Club that afternoon, for the bard had reached New York but the previous evening. So Charles and I were the only visitors who remained to be introduced to him. The Lion of the Hour was attired in ordinary evening dress with no property of any kind but he wore in his buttonhole a dainty blue flower whose name I do not know and as he bowed distantly to Charles whom he surveyed through his eyeglass the gleam of a big diamond in the middle of his shirt front betrayed the fact that the Breyer-Rose school as it was called from his famous epic had at least succeeded in making money out of poetry. He explained to us a little later in fact that he was over in New York to look after his royalties. The beggars, he said only gave me 800 pounds on my last volume I couldn't stand that, you know or a modern bard moving with the age can only sing when duly wound up. So I've run across to investigate put a penny in the slot don't you see and the poet will look for you. Exactly like myself Charles said finding a point in common I'm interested in minds and I too have come over to look after my royalties. The poet placed his eyeglass in his eye once more and surveyed Charles deliberately from head to foot Oh he murmured slowly he said not a word more but somehow everybody felt that Charles was demolished. I saw that Rengold when we went in to dinner hastily altered the cards that marked their places. He had evidently put Charles at first to sit next the poet. He varied that arrangement now setting Algernon Colyard between a railway king and a magazine editor. I have seldom seen my respected brother-in-law so completely silenced. The poet's conduct during dinner was most peculiar. He kept quoting poetry at inopportune moments. Roast lamb or boiled turkey sir said the footman. Mary had a little lamb said the poet I shall imitate Mary. Charles and the senator thought the remark undignified. After dinner however under the mellowing influence of some excellent rotorer Charles began to expand again and grew lively and anecdotal. The poet had made us all laugh not a little with various capital stories of London literary society at least two of them I think new ones and Charles was moved by generous emulation to contribute his own share to the amusement of the company. He was in excellent queue often brilliant but when he chooses he has a certain dry vein of caustic humor which is decidedly funny though not perhaps strictly without being vulgar. On this particular night then warmed with the admirable Rengold Champagne the best made in America he launched out into a full and embroidered description of the various ways in which he did not say that he narrated them in full with the same frankness and accuracy that I have shown in these pages he suppressed not a few of the most amusing details on no other ground apparently than because they happened to tell against himself and he enlarged a good deal on the surprising cleverness with which several times he had nearly secured his man but still making all allowances for native vanity and concealment and addition he was distinctly funny he represented the matter for once in its ludicrous rather than in its disastrous aspect he observed also looking around the table that after all he had lost less by Colonel Clay in four years of persecution than he often lost by one injudicious move in a single day on the London Stock Exchange while he seemed to imply to the solid men of New York that he would cheerfully sacrifice such a fleebite as that in return for the amusement and excitement of the chase which the Colonel had afforded him the poet was pleased you are a man of spirit Sir Charles he said I love to see this fine old English admiration of pluck and adventure the fellow must really have some good in him after all I should like to take notes of a few of those stories they would supply nice material for basing a romance upon I hardly know whether I'm exactly the man to make the hero of a novel Charles murmured with complacence and he certainly didn't look it I was thinking rather of Colonel Clay as the hero the poet responded coldly ah that's the way with you men of letters Charles answered growing warm you always have a sneaking sympathy with the rascals that may be better Colyard retorted in an icy voice than sympathy with the worst forms of stock exchange speculation the company smiled uneasily the railway king wriggled tried to change the subject hastily but Charles would not be put down you must hear the end though he said that's not quite the worst the meanest thing about the man is that he's also a hypocrite he wrote me such a letter at the end of his last trick here positively here in America and he proceeded to give his own version of the quackenboss incident and livened with sundry imaginative bursts of pure van drift fancy when Charles spoke of Mrs. Quackenboss the poet smiled the worst of married women he said is that you can't marry them the worst of unmarried women is that they want to marry you but when it came to the letter the poet's eye was upon my brother-in-law Charles I must faint admit garbled the document sadly still even so some gleam of good feeling remained in its sentences but Charles ended all by saying so to crown his misdemeanors the rascal shows himself a whining cur and a disgusting Pharisee don't you think the poet interposed in his cultivated drawl he may have really meant it why should not some grain of compunction have stirred his soul still some remnant of conscience made him shrink from betraying a man who confided in him I have an idea myself that even the worst of rogues have always something good in them I notice they often succeed to the end in retaining the affection and fidelity of women oh I said so Charles sneered I told you you literary men have always an underhand regard for a scoundrel perhaps so the poet answered for we are all of us human let him that is without sin among us cast the first stone and then he relapsed into moody silence we rose from the table cigars went round we adjourned to the smoking room it was a moorish marvel with oriental hangings there senator rengold and Charles exchanged reminiscences of bonanzas and ranches and other exciting post-prandial topics while the magazine editor cut in now and again with a pertinent inquiry or a quaint and sarcastic parallel instance it was clear he had an eye to future copy only Algernon Colillard sat brooding and silent with his chin on one hand and his brow intent musing and gazing at the embers in the fireplace the hand by the way was remarkable for a curious antique-looking ring apparently of Egyptian or Etruscan workmanship with a projecting gem of several large facets once only in the midst of a game of wist he broke out with a single comment Hawkins was made an earl said Charles speaking of some London acquaintance what for? asked the senator successful adulteration said the poet, tartly honors are easy the magazine editor put in and too by tricks to sir Charles the poet added toward the close of the evening however the poet still remaining moody not to say positively grumpy senator Rengold proposed a friendly game of Swedish poker it was the latest fashionable variant in western society on the old gambling round and few of us knew it save the omniscient poet and the magazine editor it turned out afterwards that Rengold proposed that particular game because he had heard Colillard observe at the lotus club the same afternoon that it was a favorite amusement of games now however for a while he objected to playing he was a poor man he said and the rest were all rich why should he throw away the value of a dozen golden sonnets just to add one more pinnacle to the gilded roofs of a millionaire's palace besides he was halfway through with an ode he was indicting to republican simplicity the pristine austerity of a democratic senatorial cottage had naturally inspired him with memories of Dantatus the Fabiae Camillus but Rengold dimly aware he was being made fun of somehow insisted that the poet must take a hand with the financiers you can pass you know he said as often as you like and you can steak low or go it blind according as you're inclined to it's a democratic game every man decides for himself how high he will play except the banker and you needn't take the bank unless you want it oh if you insist upon it Collyard draw it out with languid reluctance I'll play of course I won't spoil your evening but remember I'm a poet I have strange inspirations the cards were that is to say had the suit and the number of pips in each printed small in the corner as well as over the face for ease of reference we played low at first the poet seldom staked and when he did a few pounds he lost with singular persistence he wanted to play for doubloons or sequins and could with difficulty be induced to condescend charles looked across at him at last the stakes by that time were fast rising higher and we played for ready money notes lay thick on the green cloth well he murmured provokingly how about your inspiration has Apollo deserted you it was an unwanted flight of classical illusion for Charles and I confess it astonished me I discovered afterwards he had cribbed it from a review in that evening's critic but the poet smiled no he answered calmly I am waiting for one now when it comes you may be sure you shall have the benefit of it next round Charles dealing and banking the poet staked on his card unseen as usual he staked like a gentleman to our immense astonishment he pulled out a roll of notes and remarked in a quiet tone I have an inspiration now half hearted will do I go five thousand that was dollars of course but it amounted to a thousand pounds in English money high play for an author Charles smiled and turned his card the poet turned his and won a thousand good shot Charles murmured pretending not to mind though he detests losing inspiration the poet mused and looked once more abstracted Charles dealt again the poet watched the deal with boiled fishy eyes his thoughts were far away his lips moved audibly myrtle and curdle and hurdle he muttered will do for three then there's turtle meaning dove and that finishes the possible laurel and coral make a very bad rhyme try myrtle don't you think so do you stake Charles asked severely interrupting his reverie the poet started no pass he replied looking down at his card and subsided into muttering he caught a tremor of his lips again and heard something like this not less but more republican than thou half hearted watcher by the western sea after long years I come to visit thee and test thy fealty to that maiden vow that bound thee in my budding prime for freedoms bride Charles interrupted inquiringly again yes 5000 the poet answered dreamily pushing forward his pile of notes and never ceasing from his murmur for freedoms bride to all succeeding time succeeding succeeding weak words succeeding couldn't go five dollars on it Charles turned his card once more and had one again Charles passed over his notes the poet raked them in with a far away air as one who looks at infinity and asked if he could borrow a pencil and paper he had a few priceless lines to set down which might otherwise escape him this is play Charles said pointedly will you kindly attend to one thing or the other the poet glanced at him with a compassionate smile I told you I had inspirations he said they always come together I can't win your money as fast as I would like unless at the same time I am making verses whenever I hit upon a good epithet I back my luck don't you see I won a thousand on half hearted and a thousand on budding if I were to back succeeding I should lose to a certainty you understand my system I call it pure rubbish Charles answered however continue systems were made for fools and to suit wise men sooner or later you must lose at such a stupid fancy the poet continued for freedom's bride to all ensuing time steak Charles cried sharply each of us staked ensuing the poet murmured to all ensuing time first rate epithet that I go ten thousand so Charles on ensuing we all turned up some of us lost some one but the poet had secured his two thousand sterling I haven't that amount about me Charles said in that austerely nettle voice which he always assumes at cards but I'll settle it with you tomorrow another round the host asked beaming no thank you Charles answered Mr. Colyard's inspirations come too packed for my taste his luck beats mine I retire from the game senator just at that moment a servant entered bearing a salver with a small note in an envelope for Mr. Colyard he observed and the messenger said urgent Colyard tore it open hurriedly I could see he was agitated his face grew white at once I beg your pardon he said I must go back instantly my wife is dangerously ill quite a sudden attack forgive me senator you shall have your revenge tomorrow it was clear that his voice faltered we felt at least he was a man of feeling he was obviously frightened his coolness foresook him he shook hands as in a dream and rushed downstairs for his dustcoat almost as he closed the front door a new guest entered just missing him in the vestibule hello you men he said we've been taken in do you know it's all over the lotus the man we made an honorary member of the club today is not Algernon Colyard he's a blatant imposter there's a telegram come in on the tape tonight saying Algernon Colyard is dangerously ill at his home in England Charles gasped a violent gasp Colonel Clay he shouted aloud and once more he's done me there's not a moment to lose after him never before in our lives had we done such a close shave of catching and fixing the redoubtable swindler we burst down the stairs in a body and rushed out into Fifth Avenue the pretended poet had only a hundred yards start of us and he saw he was discovered but he was an excellent runner so was I wait for age and I dashed wildly after him he turned round a corner it proved to lead nowhere and lost him time he darted back again madly delighted with the idea that I was capturing so famous a criminal I redoubled my efforts and came up with him panting he was wearing a light dust coat I seized it in my hands I've got you at last I cried Colonel Clay I've got you he turned and looked at me ha old ten percent he called out struggling it's you then is it never never to you sir and as he spoke he somehow flung his arms straight out behind him and let the dust coat slip off which it easily did the sleeves being new and smoothly silk lined the suddenness of the movement threw me completely off my guard and off my legs as well I was clinging to the coat and holding him as the support gave way I rolled over backwards in the mud of the street and hurt my back seriously as for Colonel Clay with a nervous laugh he bolted off at full speed in his evening coat and vanished round a corner it was some seconds before I had sufficiently recovered my breath to pick myself up again and examine my bruises by this time Charles and the other pursuers had come up and I explained my condition to them instead of commending me for my zeal in his cause which had cost me a barked arm and a good evening suit my brother-in-law remarked with an unfeeling sneer that when I had so nearly caught my man I might as well have held him at least I said that may afford us a clue and I limped back with it in my hands feeling horribly bruised and a good deal shaken when we came to examine the coat however it bore no-makers name the strap at the back where the tailor proclaims with pride his handicraft had been carefully ripped off and its place was taken by a tag of plain black tape and a collection of any sort we searched the breast pocket a handkerchief similarly nameless but of finest cambrick the side pockets what was this I drew a piece of paper out in triumph it was a note a real find the one which the servant had handed to our friend just before at the Senators we read it through breathlessly Darling Paul I told you it was too dangerous you should have listened to me you ought never to have imitated any real person I happened to glance at the hotel tape just now to see the quotations for Clouette Dorps today and what do you think I read as part of the latest telegram from England Mr. Algernon Colyard the famous poet is lying on his death bed at his home in Devonshire by this time all New York knows don't stop one minute say I'm dangerously ill and come away at once don't return to the hotel I am removing our things meet me at Mary's your devoted Margo this is very important Charles said this does give us a clue we know two things now his real name is Paul and Madame Picardes is Margo I searched the pocket again and pulled out a ring evidently he had thrust these two things there when he saw me pursuing him and had forgotten or neglected them in the heat of the melee I looked at it close it was the very ring I had noticed on his finger while he was playing Swedish poker it had a large compound gem in the center set with many facets and rising like a pyramid to a point in the middle there were eight faces in all some of them composed of emerald amethyst or turquoise but one face the one that turned at a direct angle toward the wearer's eye was not a gem at all but an extremely tiny convex mirror in a moment I spotted the trick he held this hand carelessly on the table while my brother-in-law dealt and when he saw that the suit and number of his own card mirrored in it by means of the squeezers were better than Charles's he had an inspiration and backed his luck or rather his knowledge with perfect confidence I did not doubt either that this odd looking eyeglass was a powerful magnifier still we tried another deal by way of experiment I wearing the ring and even with the naked eye I was able to distinguish in every case the suit and pips of the card that was dealt to me why that was almost dishonest the senator said drawing back he wished to show us that even far western speculators drew a line somewhere yes the magazine editor echoed to back your skill is legal to back your luck is foolish to back your knowledge is immoral I suggested very good business said the magazine editor it's a simple trick Charles interposed I should have spotted it if it had been done by any other fellow but his patter about inspiration put me clean off the track that's the rascals dodge he plays the regular conjurer's game of distracting your attention from the real point at issue so well that you never find out what he's really about till he's sold you irretrievably we set the New York police upon the trail of the colonel but of course he had vanished at once as usual into the thin smoke of Manhattan not a sign could we find of him marries we found an insufficient address we waited on in New York for a whole fortnight nothing came of it we never found Marys the only token of Colonel Clay's presence about saved us in the city was one of his customary insulting notes it was conceived as follows O eternal gullible since I saw you on Lake George I have run back to London and promptly come out again I had business to transact there indeed which I have now completed the excessive attentions of the English police sent me once more like great Orion sloping slowly to the west I returned to America in order to see whether or not you were still impenitent on the day of my arrival I happened to meet Senator Rengold and accepted his kind invitation solely that I might see how far my last communication had had a proper effect upon you as I found you quite obdurate and as you furthermore persisted in misunderstanding my motives I determined to read you one more small lesson it nearly failed and I confess the accident has affected my nerves a little I am now about to retire from business altogether and settle down for life at my place in Surrey I mean to try just one more small coup when that is finished Colonel Clay will hang up his sword like Cincinnati's and take to farming you need no longer fear me I have realized enough to secure me a modest competence and as I am not possessed like yourself by a moderate greed of gain I recognize that good citizenship demands of me now an early retirement in favor of some younger and more deserving rascal I shall always look back with pleasure upon our agreeable adventures together and as you hold my dustcoat together with a ring and letter to which I attach importance I consider we are quits withdraw with dignity your sincere well-wisher Cuthbert Clay Poet just like him Charles said to hold this one last coup over my head in terror him though even when he has played it why should I trust his word a scam like that may say it of course on purpose to disarm me for my own part I quite agreed with Margo when the colonel was reduced to dressing the part of a known personage I felt he had reached almost his last card and would be well advised to retire into Surrey but the magazine editor summed up all in a word don't believe that nonsense about fortunes being made by industry and ability he said in life as at cards two things go to produce success the first is chance the second is cheating end of chapter 10 chapter 11 of an African millionaire episodes in the life of the illustrious Colonel Clay this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Kirsten Weber chapter 11 of an African millionaire episodes in the life of the illustrious Colonel Clay by Grant Allen the episode of the Bertille method we had a terrible passage home from New York the captain told us he knew every drop of water in the Atlantic personally and he had never seen them so uniformly obstreperous the ship rolled in the trough Charles rolled in his cabin and would not be comforted as we approached the Irish coast I scrambled up on deck in a violent gale and retired again somewhat precipitately to announce to my brother-in-law that we had just come in sight of the fast-net rock lighthouse Charles merely turned over in his birth and groaned I don't believe it he answered I expected is probably Colonel Clay in another of his manifold disguises at Liverpool however the Adelphi consult him we dined luxuriously in the Louis Kahn's restaurant as only millionaires can dine and proceeded next day by Pullman car to London we found Amelia dissolved in tears at a domestic cataclysm it seemed that Césarine had given notice Charles was scarcely home again when he began to rethink him of the least among his investments like many other wealthy men my respected connection is troubled more or less in the background of his consciousness by a pervading dread that he will die a beggar to guard against this misfortune which I am bound to admit nobody else fears for him he invested several years ago a sum of 200,000 pounds in consoles to serve as a nest egg in case of the collapse of Golcández and South Africa generally it is part of the same amiable mania too that he will not allow the dividend warrants on this sum to be sent to him by post but insists after the fashion of old ladies and country parson's personally at the bank of England four times a year to claim his interest he is well known by sight to not a few of the clerks and his appearance in Thread Needle Street is looked forward to with great regularity within a few weeks of each lawful quarter day so on the morning after our arrival in town Charles observed to me cheerfully see I must run into the city today to claim my dividends there are two quarters owing I accompanied him into the bank even that mighty official the beadle at the door unfastened the handle of the millionaire's carriage the clerk who received us smiled and nodded how much he asked after the stereotype fashion 200,000 Charles answered looking affable the clerk turned up the books paid he said with decision what's your game sir if I may ask you paid Charles echoed drawing back the clerk gazed across at him yes sir Charles he answered in a somewhat severe tone you must remember you drew a quarters dividend from myself last week at this very counter Charles stared at him sadly show me the signature he said at last in a slow dazed fashion I suspected mischief the clerk pushed the book across to him Charles examined the name close Colonel Clay again he cried turning to me with a despondent air he must have dressed the part I shall die in the workhouse see that man away even my nest egg from me I saw it at a glance Mrs. Quackenbos I put in those portraits on the itch ruria it was to help him in his makeup you recollect she sketched your face and figure at all possible angles and last quarters Charles inquired staggering the clerk turned up the entry drawn on the end of July he answered carelessly as if it mattered nothing then I knew why Colonel Clay had run across to England Charles positively reeled take me home see he cried I am ruined ruined he will leave me with not half a million in the world my poor poor boys will bank their bread unheated through the streets of London as Amelia has landed estate settled upon her worth 150,000 pounds this last contingency affected me less to tears than Charles seemed to think necessary we made all needful inquiries and put the police upon the quest at once as always but no redress was forthcoming the money once paid could not be recovered it is a playful little privilege that the government declines under any circumstances to pay twice over Charles drove back to Mayfair a crushed and broken man I think if Colonel Clay himself could have seen him just then he would have pitied that vast intellect in its grief and bewilderment after lunch however my brother-in-law's natural buoyancy reasserted itself by degrees he rallied a little see more he said to me you've heard of course of the Bertillon system of measuring and registering criminals I have I answered and it's excellent as far as it goes but like Mrs. Glass's jugged hair it all depends upon the initial step first catch your criminal now we never caught Colonel Clay or rather Charles interposed unkindly when you did catch him you didn't hold him I ignored the unkindly suggestion and continued in the same voice we have never secured Colonel Clay and until we secure him we cannot register him by the Bertillon method besides even if we had once caught him and duly noted the shape of his nose his chin his ears what use would that be against a man who turns up with a fresh face each time and can mold his features into what form he likes to deceive and foil us never mind see my brother-in-law said I was told in New York that Dr. Frank Beddersly of London was the best exponent of the Bertillon system now living in England and to Beddersly I shall go whether I'll invite him here to lunch tomorrow who told you of him I inquired not Dr. Krakenbos I hope nor yet Mr. Algernon Colyard Charles paused and reflected no neither of them he answered after a short internal deliberation it was that magazine editor chap we met at Wrengoals he's all right I said or at least I think so so we wrote a polite invitation to Dr. Beddersly who pursued the method professionally asking him to come and lunch with us at Mayfair at two next day Dr. Beddersly came a dapper little man with penthouse eyebrows and keen small eyes whom I suspected at sight of being Colonel Clay himself in another of his clever polymorphic embodiments he was clear and concise his manner was scientific he told us at once that though the Bertillon method was of little use till the expert had seen the criminal ones yet if we had consulted him earlier he might probably have saved us some serious disasters a man so ingenious as this he said would no doubt have studied Bertillon's principles himself and would take every possible means to prevent recognition by them therefore you might almost disregard the nose the chin the mustache the hair all of which are capable of such easy alteration but there remain some features which are more likely to persist height shape of head neck build and fingers the timbre of the voice the color of the iris even these again may be partially disguised or concealed the way the hair is dressed the amount of padding a high collar round the throat a dark line about the eyelashes may do more to alter the appearance of face than you could really credit so we know I answered the voice again Dr. Beddersley continued the voice itself may be most fallacious and is no doubt a clever mimic he could perhaps compress or enlarge his larynx and I judge from what you tell me that he took characters each time which compelled him largely to alter and modify his tone and accent yes I said as the Mexican seer he had of course a Spanish intonation as a curate he was a cultivated North countryman as David Granton he spoke gentlemanly Scotch as von Liebenstein naturally he was a South German trying to express himself in French as professor Schleiermacher he was a North German speaking broken English as Eliehu Quacken boss he had a fine and pronounced Kentucky flavor and as the poet he drawled after the fashion of the clubs lingering remnants of a Devonshire ancestry quite so Dr. Beddersley answered that is just what I should expect now the question is do you know him to be one man or is he really a gang is he a name for a syndicate have you any photographs of Colonel Clay himself in any of his disguises not one Charles answered some himself when he was Medhurst the detective but he pocketed them at once and we never recovered them could you get any the doctor asked did you note the name and address of the photographer unfortunately no Charles replied but the police at Nice showed us too perhaps we might borrow them until we get them to know that we can do anything but if you can once give me two distinct photographs of the real man no matter how much disguised I could tell you whether they were taken from one person and if so I think I could point out certain details in common which might aid us to go upon all this was at lunch Amelia's niece Dolly Lingfield was there as it happened and I chance to note a most guilty look stealing over her face all the while we were talking suspicious as I had learned to become by this time however I did not suspect Dolly of being in league with Colonel Clay but I confess I wondered what her blush could indicate after lunch to my surprise Dolly called me away from the rest into the library Uncle Seymour she said to me the dear child calls me Uncle Seymour though of course I am not in any way related to her I have some photographs of Colonel Clay if you want them you I cried astonished why Dolly how did you get them for a minute or two she showed some little hesitation in telling me at last she whispered you won't be angry if I confess Dolly is just 19 and remarkably pretty my child I said why should I be angry you may confide in me implicitly with a blush like that who on earth could be angry with her and you won't tell Aunt Amelia or Aunt Isabelle she inquired somewhat anxiously not for worlds I answered as a matter of fact Amelia and Isabelle are the last people in the world to whom I should dream of confiding anything that Dolly might tell me well I was stopping at Selden when Mr. David Granton was there Dolly went on or rather when that scamp pretended he was David Granton and you won't be angry with me will you one day I took a snapshot with my back at him and at Amelia why what harm was there in that I asked bewildered the wildest stretch of fancy could hardly conceive that the honorable David had been flirting with Amelia Dolly colored still more deeply oh you know Bertie Winslow she said well he's interested in photography and and also in me and he's invented a process which isn't of the slightest practical use he says but its peculiarity is that it reveals textures at least that's what Bertie calls it it makes things come out so and he gave me some plates of his own for my Kodak half a dozen or more and I took Aunt Amelia with them I still fail to see I murmured looking at her comically oh uncle Seymour Dolly cried how blind you men are if Aunt Amelia knew she would never forgive me why you must understand the the rouge you know and the pearl powder oh it comes out then in the photograph I inquired comes out I should think so it's like little black spots all over auntie's face such a guy as she looks in it and Colonel Clay is in them too yes I took them when he and auntie were talking together without either of them noticing and Bertie developed them I've three of David Granton three beauties most successful any other character I asked seeing business ahead Dolly hung back a little redder well the rest are with Aunt Isabel she answered after a struggle my dear child I replied hiding my feelings as a husband I will be brave I will bear up even against the last misfortune Dolly looked up at me pleadingly it was here in London she went on when I was last with auntie Medhurst was stopping at the time and I took him twice Tetta Tett with Aunt Isabel Isabel does not paint I murmured stoutly Dolly hung back again no but her hair she suggested in a faint voice it's color I admitted is in places assisted by a well you know a restorer Dolly broke into a mischievous sly smile yes it is she continued and oh uncle see where the restorer has or restored it you know it comes out in the photograph with a sort of brilliant iridescent metallic sheen on it bring them down my dear I said gently patting her head with my hand in the interests of justice I thought it best not to frighten her Dolly brought them down they seemed to me poor things yet well worth trying we found it possible on further confabulation by the simple aid of a pair of scissors so to cut each in two that all trace of Amelia and Isabel was obliterated even so however I judged it best to call Charles and doctor bettersley to a private consultation in the library with Dolly and not to submit the mutilated photographs to public inspection by their joint subjects here in fact we had five patchy portraits of the redoubtable Colonel taken at various angles and in characteristic unstudied attitudes a child had outwitted the cleverest sharper in Europe the moment better these eyes fell upon them a curious look came over his face why these he said are taken on Herbert Windlow's method Miss Lingfield yes Dolly admitted timidly they are he's a friend of mine don't you know and he gave me some plates that just fitted my camera bettersley gazed at them steadily then he turned to Charles and this young lady he said has quite unintentionally and unconsciously succeeded in tracking Colonel Clay to earth at last they are genuine photographs of the man as he is without the disguises they looked to me most blotchy Charles murmured great black lines down the nose and such spots on the cheek too exactly bettersley put in those are differences in texture they show just how much of the man's face is human flesh and how much wax I've entered not wax the expert answered gazing close this is some harder mixture I should guess a composition of gutta percha and india rubber which takes color well and hardens when applied so as to lie quite evenly and resist heat or melting look here that's an artificial scar filling up a real hollow and this is an added bit to the tip of the nose and those are shadows due to inserted cheek pieces within the mouth to make the man look fatter why of course Charles cried india rubber it must be that's why in France we call him can you reconstruct the real face from them I inquired anxiously doctor bettersley gazed hard at them give me an hour or two he said and a box of watercolors I think by that time putting two and two together I can eliminate the false and build up for you a tolerably correct idea of what the actual man himself looks like we turned him into the library for a couple of hours with the materials he needed and by tea time he had completed his first rough sketch of the elements common to the two faces he brought it out to us in the drawing room I glanced at it first it was a curious countenance slightly wanting indefiniteness and not unlike those composite photographs which mr. Galton produces by exposing two negatives on the same sensitized paper for 10 seconds or so consecutively yet it struck me at once as containing something of colonel clay in every one of his many representations the little curate in real life did not recall the seer nor did aloo quackenboss suggest count von Liebenstein or professor Schleiermacher yet in this compound face produced only from photographs of david granton and medders I could distinctly trace a certain underlying likeness to every one of the forms which the imposter had assumed for us in other words though he could make up so as to mask the likeness to his other characters he could not make up so as to mask the likeness to his own personality he could not wholly get rid of build and genuine features besides the striking suggestions of the seer and the curate however I felt vaguely conscious of having seen and observed the man himself whom the watercolor represented at some time somewhere it was not at niece it was not at selden it was not at meran it was not in america I believed I had been in a room with him somewhere in london Charles was looking over my shoulder he gave a sudden little start why I know that fellow he cried you recollect him see he's finglemore's brother the chap that didn't go out to china then I remembered at once where it was that I had seen him at the brokers in the city before we sailed for america I asked Charles reflected a moment the same as the one in the note we got with the dustcoat he answered at last the man is paul finglemore you will arrest him I asked can I on this evidence we might bring it home to him Charles mused for a moment we shall have nothing against him he said slowly but in so far as we can swear to his identity and that may be difficult just at that moment the footmen brought in tea Charles wondered apparently whether the man who had been with us at selden when colonel clay was david grantin would recollect the face or recognize having seen it look here dudley he said holding up the watercolour do you know that person was easily gazed at it a moment certainly sir he answered riskily who is it amelia asked we expected him to answer count von debonstein or mr. grantin or metters instead of that he replied to our utter surprise that's cesarine's young man my lady cesarine's young man amelia repeated taken aback oh dudley mistaken no my lady dudley replied in a tone of conviction he comes to see her quite regular he have come to see her often on from time to time ever since i've been in sir charles's service when will he be coming again charles asked breathless he's downstairs now sir dudley answered unaware of the bombshell he was flinging into the midst of a respectable family charles rose excitedly and put his back against the door secure that man he said to me sharply pointing with his finger what man i asked amazed the young man who's downstairs now with cesarine no charles answered with decision dudley i laid my hand on the footman's shoulder not understanding what charles meant dudley terrified and drew back and would have rushed from the room but charles with his back against the door prevented him i've done nothing to be arrested sir charles dudley cried in abject terror looking appealingly at amelia it wasn't me as cheated you and he certainly didn't look it i daresay not charles answered but you don't leave this room till you're in custody no amelia no it's no use you're speaking to me what he says is true i see it all now this villain and cesarine have long been accomplices the man's downstairs with her now if we let dudley quit the room he'll go down and tell them and before we know where we are that slippery eel will have wriggled through our fingers as he always wriggles he is paul finglemore he is cesarine's young man and unless we arrest him now without one minutes delay he'll be off to madrid or saint petersberg by this evening you are right i answered it's now or never dudley charles said in his most authoritative voice stop here till we tell you you may leave the room amelia and dolly don't let that man stir from where he's standing if he does restrain him seymour and dr bettersley come down with me to the servants hall i suppose that's where i shall find this person dudley no sir dudley stammered out half beside himself with fright he's in the housekeeper's room sir we went down to the lower regions in a solid phalanx of three on the way we met simpson sir charles' valet and also the butler whom we pressed into the service at the door of the housekeeper's room we paused strategically voices came to us from within one was cesarine's the other had a ring that reminded me at once of medhurst and the seer of ellihoo quackenboss and alginon colliard they were talking together in french and now and then we caught the sound of stifled laughter we opened the door eti le drôle donc sevieu the man's voice was saying c'est à mourir de rire cesarine's voice responded we burst in upon them red-handed cesarine's young man rose with his hat in his hand in a respectful attitude it reminded me at once of medhurst as he stood talking his first day at marveliers to charles and also of the little curate in his humblest moments as the disinterested pastor with a sign to me to do likewise charles laid his hands firmly on the young man's shoulder i looked in the fellow's face there could be no denying it cesarine's young man was paul finglemore our broker's brother paul finglemore charles said severely otherwise cuthbert clay i arrest you on several charges of theft and conspiracy the young man glanced around him he was surprised and perturbed but even so his inexhaustible coolness never once deserted him what five to one he said counting us over has law and order come down to this five respectable rascals to arrest one poor beggar of a chevalier d'industrie why it's worse than new york there it was only you and me you know old ten percent hold his hands simpson charles cried trembling lest his enemy should escape him paul finglemore drew back even while we held his shoulders no not you sir he said to the man haughtily don't dare to lay your hands upon me send for a constable if you wish sir charles van drift but i declined to be taken into custody by a ballot go for a policeman doctor bettersley said to simpson standing forward the prisoner eyed him up and down oh doctor bettersley he said relieved it was evident he knew him you've tracked me strictly in accordance with Bertillon's methods i don't mind so much i will not yield to fools i yield to science i didn't think this diamond king had sense enough to apply to you he's the most gullible old ass i ever met in my life but if it's you who have tracked me down i can only submit to it charles held to him with a fierce grip mind he doesn't break away see he cried he's playing his old game distrust the man's patter take care the prisoner put in remember doctor pulpero on what charge do you arrest me charles was bubbling with indignation you cheated me at niece he said at moran at new york at paris or shook his head won't do he answered calmly be sure of your ground outside the jurisdiction you can only do that on an extradition warrant well then at seldom in london in this house and elsewhere charles cried out excitedly hold hard to him see by law or without it blessed if he isn't going even now to wiggle away from us at that moment simpson returned with a convenient policeman whom he had happened to find loitering about near the area steps and whom i have suspected from his furtive smile of being a particular acquaintance of the household charles gave the man in charge formally paul finglemore insisted that he should specify the nature of the particular accusation to my great chagrin charles collected from his rogueries as best within the jurisdiction of the english courts the matter of the payment for the castle of levenstein made in london and through a london banker i have a warrant on that ground he said i trembled as he spoke i felt at once that the episode of the commission the exposure of which i dreaded so much must now become public the policeman took the man in charge charles still held to him grimly as they were leaving the room the prisoner turned to sesarine and muttered something rapidly under his breath in german of which tongue he said turning to us blandly in spite of my kind present of a dictionary and grammar you still doubtless remain in your pristine ignorance sesarine flung herself upon him with wild devotion oh paul, darling she cried in english i will not, i will not i will never save myself at your expense if they send you to prison paul paul, i will go with you i remembered as she spoke what mr aljanon colyard had said to us at the senators even the worst of rogues always some good in them i notice they often succeed to the end in retaining the affection and fidelity of women but the man his hands still free unwound her clasping arms with gentle fingers my child he answered in a soft tone i am sorry to say the law of england will not permit you to go with me if it did in the face of the poet we had met stone walls would not a prison make nor iron bars a cage and bending forward he kissed her forehead tenderly we let him out to the door the policeman in obedience to charles' orders held him tight with his hand but steadily refused as the prisoner was not violent to handcuff him we hailed a passing handsome to bow street charles cried unceremoniously pushing in policeman and prisoner the driver nodded we called a four-wheeler ourselves in which my brother-in-law dr bettersley and myself took our seats follow the handsome charles cried out don't let him out of your sight after him close to bow street i looked back and saw cesarean have fainting on the front doorsteps while dolly, bathed in tears stood supporting the ladies maid and trying to comfort her it was clear she had not anticipated this end to the adventure goodness gracious charles screamed out in a fresh fever of alarm as we turned the first corner where's that handsome gone to how do i know the fellow was a policeman at all we should have taken the man in here we ought never to have let him get out of our sight for all we can tell to the contrary the constable himself may only be one of colonel clay's confederates and we drove in trepidation all the way to bow street end of chapter 11