Читать книгу The Curious Quest - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 8

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Bliss, committed to an enterprise only the barest details of which he had as yet conceived, went off down the street with Tim and the packing case following close behind. He walked rapidly at first, and without any precise idea of his destination. Tim, who had grown used to inactivity, was beginning to feel somewhat aggrieved.

"How far might you be going, sir?" he cried out presently, pausing to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Bliss stopped short upon the pavement.

"Sorry, I'd forgotten all about you," he said. "I have one or two calls to pay before I want the stove. No need for you to come with me. Look here! Do you know St. James' Street?"

"Do you mean St. James' Street right up the West End?" Tim demanded ruefully.

"That's the one. Can you find your way there without me? You can take your own time and wait for me outside Number Thirty-seven—name of Broadbent, house agents. I shall be there in less than an hour."

Tim wiped his forehead, and with a surprising lack of delicacy referred to the impossibility of getting to St. James' Street without refreshment. With a sigh Bliss thrust his hand into his trousers pocket and glanced at the contents. He was possessed of two shillings and ninepence halfpenny, with nothing more to come until Saturday morning. He handed the ninepence halfpenny to the porter.

"Mind you're there," he enjoined. "It's important."

From the first, Bliss proceeded on his new campaign with a total and almost contemptuous disregard of difficulties. When he arrived at his banker's an hour after closing time, he simply rang the bell at the side door until he was admitted. The mention of his name made the rest easy. When the young man at the estate agents in St. James' Street scoffed at the idea of letting an empty shop in Regent Street for anything under a term of years, Bliss brushed him out of the way, and, with a handful of bank notes, arranged the matter promptly with the head of the firm. A few minutes later, accompanied by the clerk carrying the keys, and followed by Tim wheeling the truck, he made his way to the lower part of Regent Street and took temporary possession of the new premises he had selected. The packing case was deposited on the boarded space in front of the plate-glass window. The young man, after showing them the whereabouts of the electric lights and other small details, departed. Bliss closed the door after him and returned to Tim.

"Look here, Tim, you understand these stoves, don't you?" he asked.

"I understand them all right," Tim replied, "but what the mischief's our little game here?"

"You'll see fast enough to-morrow morning," Bliss told him. "What I want you to do now is to unpack the cooking stove, fix it well in front of the window, and get ready to start it going at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. You leave the rest to me."

Tim scratched his head dubiously.

"There's a bit of fuel and some oil and polishing needed," he remarked, "to do it justice."

From his right-hand pocket Bliss produced a couple of sovereigns.

"Take these, Tim," he directed, "and buy anything you want to keep the thing going. And listen I I don't want you to return to the City until I give the word. We'll see if we can make this a go first. I shall be here at eight o'clock in the morning, too."

Tim departed wonderingly, and Bliss followed him a few moments later. In his right-hand pocket he had three hundred and fifty pounds in bank notes, and a little loose gold, the property of Ernest Bliss, Esquire, millionaire; in his left-hand pocket he had exactly two shillings, the sum which represented every penny in the world possessed by Mr. Ernest Bliss, town traveller to the firm of Masters and Company, Cooking-stove Patentees and Manufacturers. It was just the hour when the streets of the great city are most attractive, both to the foreigner and to the born Londoner of Bliss' type and habits. Around him flared the soft lights which he had once found so irresistible. The subtle charm of the West End, which no human being has yet exactly defined, with its restaurants de luxe, its music, its gaily dressed women, stole into his blood. He was full of poignant reminiscences. Six weeks' privations were suddenly forgotten. He stood between the entrances of two famous restaurants. After all, just one dinner might go down to the expenses of launching the Alpha Cooking Stove. It was foolish to be so quixotic. And even then, while he hesitated, he was suddenly clutched by the arm. He was conscious of the perfume of violets and the soft touch of furs, the flash of a pair of dark eyes close to his, and a very familiar voice.

"If it isn't Ernest—Ernest Bliss! You little wretch! Where have you been to for the last month? Hilda, just look here!"

The two girls who had just alighted from a taxi almost held him captive.

"Not once at the theatre," the little lady who had spoken to him first continued reproachfully, "not once in the café at the Milan, not once, even, have you sent the car for us. Come and have some dinner at Oddy's and tell us what has happened."

For a moment he hesitated. They were almost upon the threshold of the restaurant. The commissionaire, who had already recognised him, was standing bareheaded. He felt hungry for the warmth, the lights, the delicate food and wine, all the luxuries which he had so strenuously denied himself during the last six weeks. The girl who had taken possession of him was leaning on his arm.

"You can't get away," she laughed. "Come in and tell us all about it, and why you are wearing such queer clothes."

There was one more fateful moment of hesitation. Then a working girl, with pale cheeks and a tired walk, passed them with her head turned towards the skies. Bliss was suddenly conscious of a wave of reminiscence, an added strength of purpose; something which rang in his tone and gave his voice a new quality.

"Sorry, girls," he said firmly, "but all those things are off for me at the present moment. Look here, we are old friends. You won't be offended, Kitty, I know."

He thrust two or three notes from his right-hand trousers pocket into the girl's hand.

"There," he concluded. "Run along and have your dinner and buy yourselves some flowers. I've some business I must look after."

The girl looked at him wonderingly. She had known a somewhat dissipated boy, she was suddenly conscious that she was talking to a man.

"Come and have dinner with us, at least," she begged. "You can run away 'afterwards."

He shook his head. He had already drawn himself free.

"I am dining elsewhere," he declared with a grim smile, as he thought of the two shillings which reposed in his left-hand pocket. "So long, girls!"

He hurried off, breathing quickly like a man who has had a merciful escape from some misfortune. He dined for tenpence in Soho, and a little later he let himself into his flat in Arleton Street, with a curious sense of unfamiliarity in his surroundings. Clowes came forward at the sound of the key and saluted his master without the least sign of surprise.

"Have you dined, sir?" was his only question. Bliss nodded.

"Come into my dressing room at once," he directed. "I want to change into some morning clothes."

"There are three baskets full of letters that I have not known what to do with, sir, which Mr. Crawley has sent back here. Private letters and invitations."

"They must wait," Bliss replied shortly. "I am not ready to deal with them yet."

Half an hour later he left the flat with an only half-stifled sigh of regret as he passed out from its warm, luxurious comfort into the drizzling rain of the streets. He slept that night in the hard little bed in his attic, and at eight o'clock the next morning he let Tim into the shop in Regent Street. By ten o'clock a good many of his notes had gone, but the stove was burning and a white-clad chef was busy cooking upon it. An enormous stock of provisions was there in reserve, a carpet was upon the floor, and Bliss himself was seated before a Derby desk, in tail coat, dark grey trousers, and a silk hat, sucking a large cigar in full view of the passers-by. In the window was a huge, hastily printed placard:

FREE MEALS FOR THE HUNGRY

COOKED UPON

THE FAMOUS

ALPHA COOKING STOVE

In less than an hour's time, a commissionaire had to be engaged to look after the door, and two policemen were on duty outside regulating the crowd. The chef had to be relieved by an assistant. Constant streams of provisions were arriving, and the long table set out at the back of the shop by a furnishing firm was occupied all the time by a strange-looking crowd of wayfarers. Bliss sat at his desk busily writing, apparently up to his eyes in affairs, but secretly a little uneasy. So far, not a single bona-fide enquiry had been made with regard to the stove. Towards three o'clock, however, a young man who had driven up in a taxi touched him on the shoulder.

"Are you in charge here?" he asked.

"I am," Bliss admitted.

"What's the price of your stove wholesale?" the young man enquired.

Bliss glanced at the card which the former handed to him. The name printed upon it was that of Ellermans Limited, the largest wholesale stores in the country.

"The price to you, wholesale, is thirteen and a half guineas," Bliss said, "but I am not sure how far we can book Orders. We get a good deal more from the retail people, and metal's going up, as you know, to say nothing of the chances of a strike."

"We'll stock a score at thirteen and a half, ten off," the representative of Ellermans Limited suggested.

Bliss sighed as he wrote out the order and received it back signed.

"We are not here for this sort of business," he remarked. "This was just an idea of ours to strengthen the hands of our retail customers. We are not in a position exactly to look for fresh business until our new works are finished."

The buyer looked at him curiously.

"Pretty enterprising firm, yours!"

Bliss shrugged his shoulders.

"This sort of thing pays, nowadays. You will excuse me, won't you? There are one or two other buyers waiting, although I'm sure I don't know what I can say to them."

His visitor promptly buttonholed him.

"Wait a moment," he insisted. "Let's look over this stove together. Try one of these cigars."

The young man went down on his knees and spent the next five minutes in a minute examination of the stove. When he had finished he shook the dust from his trousers and took Bliss by the arm.

"Look here," he said, "you know my people. A score's no use to us, anyway. Is it any good my bringing my managing director down here to see you?"

Bliss shook his head doubtfully.

"The fact is," he said, "you're too big for us. We don't want to sell too many wholesale. Thirteen and a half guineas is a cut price."

"There's no object," the young man continued firmly, "in your dividing up this business amongst half a dozen firms. We pay prompt cash, and I think we can handle your stoves. There's a little patent arrangement at the back—Masters' Patent, it's called, I believe—which I like. Make us an offer of a thousand."

"You bring your managing director down, and we'll see," Bliss replied, pinching his leg with the hand that was inside his trouser pocket, to make sure that he was awake.

"I'll make the present order for a hundred if you like, in the meantime," the young man suggested.

Bliss altered the figures with a sigh.

"I don't think we shall be able to go much farther than that at the price," he declared.

"See you later, anyhow," Ellermans' young man replied.

Bliss closed his desk and took a taxi down to the City. There was a new smile upon his face, a new sense of pleasure in his pulse, a new alacrity in his manner as he entered the dingy little warehouse. Mr. Masters, at the sound of the opening door, jumped up from his seat and looked anxiously out of the office window. Miss Clayton, after her first hopeful glance, stared at his attire in amazement. Bliss gave them no time to ask questions.

"I want you both to come along with me," he exclaimed. "I have a taxicab waiting."

Mr. Masters clapped on his hat and made for the door, his coat tails flying behind him. Frances lingered only for a moment to arrange her hat before a looking-glass. They drove up West and all the time they bombarded him with questions. Bliss, however, was like a child with a surprise in store.

"Just a little idea of mine," he kept on repeating. "Kind of 'last hope' affair. It's coming off trumps, too!"

"Have you sold any stoves?" Frances asked, with practical directness.

"You'll know all about it in a minute or two," he promised.

They descended in Regent Street. Bliss paid for the taxi out of his right-hand trousers pocket. The crowd in front of the shop was larger than ever. Mr. Masters stood with his hat on the back of his head, and with his mouth wide open, gazing at the stove, gazing at the busy chef, gazing at the advertisement in the window. He was speechless. It seemed as though he were being told for the first time in his life that the Alpha Cooking Stove was the best in the world.

"Come inside," Bliss directed, "and I'll tell you all about it."

They pushed their way in. Bliss made Frances sit in his chair. Mr. Masters was standing with his mouth still open, and his legs wide apart, his eyes glued upon the stove and the two perspiring cooks.

"Just a little advertisement idea of mine," Bliss explained. "Nothing like it in these days. They are talking about the Alpha Cooking Stove all over London. Some of the papers are going to give us a free ad. Ellermans' man has been here, and he has placed an order for a hundred at thirteen and a half prompt cash, and they want a contract for a thousand. Here's the order, look at it!"

"But where on earth," Mr. Masters demanded at last, as he held the slip of paper between his shaking fingers, "did you get the coin from to run a show like this? I've had some such thought in my mind for ages, but I could never get hold of the money."

"I borrowed it from a silly ass I know who has more money than is good for him," Bliss answered. "I borrowed five hundred. Here is the balance."

He emptied the contents of his right-hand trousers pocket, a handful of notes and gold, into Mr. Masters' hand.

"You'll have to repay him the amount and the interest," Bliss continued. "But he's in no hurry for it, and he'll send you the bill. By-the-by, allow me!"

He took two pounds from the heap of money and thrust it into his pocket.

"My to-morrow's salary," he explained. "I'm a trifle short. Here's Ellermans' man. He's brought his managing director along with him Good luck, and good-by."

Mr. Masters looked more astonished than ever. Frances, who had been listening, rose quickly to her feet. He turned to both of them. There were tears almost in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I must go at once. I can't take my commission on the stoves. All that I can accept is that two pounds which isn't really due until to-morrow, and I've got to leave you without notice."

"You'll stay as my partner, you young idiot!" Mr. Masters thundered. "Go, indeed! What do you think I'm made of? You've saved me from ruin. God bless you!"

Bliss was conscious of a curious and most exhilarating sense of pleasure. It was an absolutely new and extremely pleasant sensation. He held out one hand to Mr. Masters and one to the girl. She, also, was looking at him appealingly.

"You won't really leave us?" she begged. "Please don't."

"It isn't my choice," he assured them earnestly. "It's just a hard necessity. It's part of a bargain I made and must keep; but I shan't forget,—I shan't ever forget."

He wrenched his hand free. Mr. Masters turned after him. A portly gentleman, however, blocked the way.

"Mr. Masters, I believe? My name is Burrell, managing director of Ellermans Limited. I should like to have a business talk with you about the stoves."

Mr. Masters drew a long breath. He was only human, and fortune was knocking at his door.

"Take a seat, Mr. Burrell," he said. "Glad to meet you, sir."

Their heads grew close together as they talked, and Frances moved away towards the window. Heedless of the crowds in front of the shop, she was gazing with dim eyes along the pavement. Bliss, with his old clothes in a brown paper parcel under his arm, a new dignity in his carriage, and two pounds and fourpence in his left-hand trousers pocket, was walking steadily away eastwards.