Читать книгу The Curious Quest - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 5

Table of Contents

The metamorphosed Ernest Bliss stepped out on to the pavement with a very grim look upon his face. He managed to outstrip the butler in the hall by a few yards and deliberately slammed the door, a fact which seemed to afford him a queer sense of satisfaction. He turned out the chauffeur from his seat and, to the man's intense surprise, took the wheel himself and drove the car very skillfully through the difficult thoroughfares, until he arrived at a gloomy suite of lawyers' offices in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

"One of those cylinders is inclined to miss fire, Hayes," he said to the chauffeur as he descended. "I shall be here for about five minutes; just have a look at it."

"Certainly, sir," the man replied. "It's a drop of oil on one of the plugs. I'll have it all right, sir, by the time you come out."

The mention of his name to a youthful representative of the firm of Crawley and Crawley, Solicitors, procured for Bliss at once a very different reception from the one he had just encountered at the physician's, and should have done much to reestablish his self-esteem. The office boy was superseded by the managing clerk, who conducted him without delay, in a manner almost obsequious, to the august presence of Mr. William Crawley, senior partner of the firm, whose smile of welcome and cheery greeting were of the order reserved for his most distinguished clients.

"My dear Mr. Bliss," he exclaimed, rising to his feet and holding out his hand, "this is indeed a pleasure! Take that easy-chair, won't you, and shall I send for some cigarettes? Do, please, make yourself comfortable."

"That's all right," Bliss replied, dragging up a high-backed chair to the lawyer's table. "I don't want an easy-chair, thanks, and I won't smoke. I have come on a very important matter of business."

"Dear me!" Mr. Crawley murmured. "The Hanover Street mortgages, perhaps. I have received an advice this morning—"

"Bother the Hanover Street mortgages," Bliss interrupted. "You know very well that I don't interfere in the matter of my investments. For the next twelve months they aren't going to interest me very much."

The lawyer adopted a waiting attitude. He leaned back in his chair with the tips of his fingers pressed very lightly together.

"Look here," Bliss continued. "What is it you fellows do when a client hops it out to Africa or somewhere for a year, and can't be heard of? He signs some document or other and you run the whole show."

"A power of attorney?" Mr. Crawley suggested gently.

"That's it," Bliss agreed. "Just draft me one out at once, will you?"

Mr. Crawley had the air of one who is being hurried along a little too fast. He coughed and leaned a little forward.

"Mr. Bliss," he said, "have you any idea as to the immense significance of such a document?"

"What I take it to mean," Bliss replied, "is that you will be able to sign cheques and transfers, and manage my affairs for me until I revoke it."

"Precisely," Mr. Crawley assented. "The responsibilities connected with such powers are enormous. In your case, Mr. Bliss, they would be stupendous. It would mean entire control of a fortune which to-day exceeds the sum of a million and a quarter sterling."

"Well, that's your job, isn't it, to take on responsibilities?" Bliss remarked coolly. "I should like to sign that power of attorney before I leave this office."

Mr. Crawley rose from his seat, rang the bell, and gave a few instructions to the clerk who answered the summons. Then he returned to his seat and once more addressed his client.

"Do I understand, then, Mr. Bliss, that you are thinking of going abroad?" he asked.

"It is very doubtful," Bliss replied, "whether I shall leave London."

"But then why—" Mr. Crawley began.

Bliss leaned a little forward and tapped the table firmly. There was a new directness in his manner, and a new ring in his tone.

"Look here, Mr. Crawley," he interrupted, "you're a sound lawyer, I know. You understand, I am sure, the first principles of your profession."

"My dear Mr. Bliss!" the lawyer murmured reproachfully.

"At six o'clock this evening, perhaps before," Bliss went on, "I am going to disappear for exactly a year."

"To—er—disappear?"

"Precisely. You are not to ask me why; you are not to ask me for any further explanation. You need not know whether I am in London, on the continent, or in another hemisphere. Wipe me off the map for twelve months from to-day. You will probably hear from me now and then," Bliss continued, looking the lawyer straight in the face. "You may, or you may not. But if you want to keep my business, understand this; whatever may happen, I forbid you to make the slightest effort, under any circumstances, to ascertain my whereabouts."

Mr. Crawley had lost that air of suave yet firm composure which he flattered himself that nothing was able to disturb. His eyes, likewise his mouth, were very wide open. His expression, as he gazed at his client, was one of simple and unaffected astonishment.

"You take my breath away," he confessed. "Surely you don't realise the magnitude of your financial affairs. The Scotch mortgages will all be paid off during the next few months, and nothing has been settled yet about the reinvestment."

"What on earth do I know about reinvestments? I should leave it to you and the stock brokers, anyhow. Can't you understand this? You must treat me as though I were a ward in Chancery, and you a trustee fixed by the court to deal with my investments according to the best of your judgment. You understand?"

"The responsibility will be a very grave one, but since you insist, I must, of course, assume it."

"Then, that's all right," Bliss declared with a sigh of relief, as he rose to his feet and took up his hat.

"One moment, Mr. Bliss," the lawyer begged. "There is the power of attorney to sign."

Bliss laid down his hat again and waited while Mr. Crawley telephoned through to the clerk's office. In a few minutes the documents were spread out before him. With his finger upon the seal, Bliss took up a pen and signed his name. The lawyer glanced at the signature with fascinated eyes.

"Mr. Bliss," he said, his tone shaking with something suspiciously like emotion, "do you realise that you have made over to the control of one man, a million pounds' worth of stocks and shares and negotiable property?"

"You won't play skittles with it," Bliss asserted confidently.

"I have not sought this responsibility, but since you have forced it upon me, I can assure you that I shall use my very best efforts on your behalf. At the risk of offending you, however, I should be shirking my duty if I did not beg of you once more, before you leave this office, to give me some idea of the nature of this enterprise upon which you are about to enter."

"Can't be done," Bliss replied firmly. "It's nothing dangerous, I can assure you of that, nothing where I am likely to come to any harm."

"But what am I to reply to the enquiries I shall receive?"

"Nothing," Bliss insisted. "You have no information to give. That is all you need say, and it is the truth. I shall post you a list of the salaries you will have to pay, and, with luck," he added, glancing at the calendar which hung upon the wall, "we shall meet again in twelve months from to-day."

Bliss departed from Lincoln's Inn Fields leaving, with both Mr. Crawley and those others with whom he had spoken, an impression of something altogether strange. Once more he took the wheel of his car, and turning westward, arrived in about a quarter of an hour before a handsome grey-stone block of flats in Arleton Street. Before alighting, he stopped the engine and turned to the chauffeur who was seated by his side.

"Hayes," he asked, "how long have you been in my service?"

"Two years, sir," the man replied, a little startled.

"I'm not going to send you away," Bliss reassured him, "but I am going to give you a pretty tough job."

"If it is anything in the driving line, sir," the man began hopefully,—

"It is not," Bliss interrupted. "You have got to do nothing for twelve months, that's all."

The man grinned.

"I am thirty-one years old, sir, and I started work when I was eight. Never had a day's holiday to speak of. Think I could do with a year's rest, all right."

"All the same, I don't think you'll like it," Bliss warned him. "Listen. You need not call for orders till you receive word from Mr. Crawley. You can go to his office for your wages every Saturday. You will take the tyres off the cars and sling them up. If you like to get a job at one of the garages, I shall not object. That's your own affair."

The man looked distinctly puzzled.

"If I might take the liberty, sir," he began,—

"If you ask a single question," Bliss interrupted, "I shall sack you. Make the most of your year's rest. I shall work you hard enough when I come back. Here's good luck to you."

Bliss descended from the car, leaving the man with a five-pound note in his hand and a general expression of stupefaction upon his visage. He entered the lift and, ascending to the third floor, let himself into his own very handsome suite of apartments. His valet came hurrying into the hall to take his hat.

"Clowes," Bliss directed, "put me out a plain blue serge suit and a flannel shirt and collar. Then pack me a bag with some changes of linen and underclothes; no evening clothes, or anything of that sort."

The man preserved with an obvious effort his accustomed immutability of expression.

"You are changing at once, sir?" he asked.

"At once," Bliss replied. "You had better help me off with these things first."

In half an hour's time the bag was packed, and Bliss surveyed himself in the glass with qualified approval. For once, he had found his wardrobe inadequate to the demands made upon it. There were clothes for every sporting or social function which he might be called upon to attend. Its limitations, however, seemed reached by Bliss' present requirements. He had attired himself as simply as possible. His tie was inconspicuous, his shoes thicker than usual, and he had never made a habit of wearing a flannel collar when in town. Nevertheless, there was still an air of dilettantism about his appearance.

"Best job I can make of it, anyway," he muttered to himself as he turned away. "Now then, Clowes—" The man hurried forward. He was beginning to feel a little disturbed. His master's unusual attitude, as well as his sartorial requirements, struck him as eccentric, and eccentricity was not a quality of which he approved.

"Nothing further I can do, sir?" he asked deferentially. "It's past one o'clock. May I make you an apéritif?"

"Ah, you may do that," Bliss assented, "and in the meantime, listen to me."

The man moved towards the sideboard and busied himself with several bottles and a silver shaker. Bliss puffed at a cigarette as he watched him.

"Clowes," he said, as he finally accepted the frosted glass, "I am going away this morning, and I am going to leave you a hard task."

"Yes, sir?" the man asked eagerly. "Would you like a shade more of the bitters?"

Bliss shook his head.

"Excellent," he pronounced. "Now listen carefully. People say that the hardest task in the whole world for a man used to regular employment is to do nothing. That is the job you've got to tackle. I am leaving here in a minute or two for twelve months."

The man started. He looked with almost horror at the suit-case which he had just packed.

"But you haven't any clothes, sir!" he protested. "Am I to pack your trunks and send them on?"

"I have all that I require," Bliss told him firmly. "So far as you are concerned, all that you will have to do is to take the letters each morning to Mr. Crawley, keep the place aired and comfortable, and ask no questions and answer none. All bills, taxes, and charges of any sort Will be paid by Mr. Crawley on presentation, and of the rest you know nothing. I may be in Timbuctoo, or I may be in the next street. It is not your business to know, and you don't know. Get that well into your head."

"I understand perfectly, sir," the man replied, looking more puzzled than ever. "You will forgive my mentioning it, but you are scarcely used to travelling without a servant. I hope you will reconsider the question of leaving me behind."

"There is no reconsideration possible," Bliss assured him "I shall not require a servant. All that you have to do is to sit tight and wait for my return. I am sire that I can place every trust in you. You will be paid your full salary, and I hope you will use your spare time sensibly and not get into bad habits or anything of that sort. Look for me back again twelve months from to-day."

The man was, for a moment, incapable of speech. Bliss was busy going over all his pockets and collecting his money. When he had finished, there was a little pile of gold and notes upon the table.

"Thirty-four pounds, seven and ninepence," he announced, counting it out. "Now, Clowes, you dressed me, you are my witness that I have no more money in any of my pockets."

"Certainly not, sir," the man admitted.

"Take that five-pound note," Bliss went on, "fold it up, and place it in my pocket. I have no more money upon me, have I?"

The man's expression was almost pathetic. Insanity seemed to be the only possible explanation of his master's conduct.

"No, sir, no more money, certainly not."

"Very well then," Bliss said. "You can take what's left for yourself, Christmas boxes, tips, and that sort of thing. Now carry my bag down-stairs, and put it on a taxi."

The man obeyed. He had the air, as he followed his master into the lift and down the court, of a man walking in a dream. Bliss, on the contrary, was more alert than he had been for many days. He carried himself almost briskly. A curious, unwonted thrill stirred him as he awaited the taxi.

"Where to, sir?" Clowes asked, as he deposited the dressing-case by the side of the driver and turned towards his master.

The question took Bliss a little aback. He hesitated for a moment. Then an inspiration seized him. "Towards the City," he ordered firmly.