Читать книгу The Missing Angel - Erle Cox - Страница 13

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Tydvil's head was whirling with bewilderment. Perhaps, the thought occurred to him, both he and his visitor were non compos mentis. However, if the strange creature were a product of a prostrated nervous system it might be better to play up to him. Especially as the next question was, "By the way, my friend, will you tell me where on earth I am?"

"You are, at present," he replied, "in the city of Melbourne, which is the capital of the State of Victoria in the Commonwealth of Australia."

"Melbourne—Australia," murmured the other thoughtfully. "Er really, Mr. Jones, you must forgive me, but I do not seem to remember the names. Have you altered your European or Asiatic nomenclature by any means?"

It was Tydvil's turn to stare. Strange to say, he felt a little nettled that, if his visitor were what he professed to be, he should be ignorant of Australia and, more particularly, of Melbourne. Then he saw a light. "Perhaps," he suggested, "your long absence from the world accounts for your difficulty. You see, the continent has been known to Europeans for only about two hundred years, and has been occupied for no more than one hundred and fifty years. Still, it rather surprises me that you have not heard of it."

"That would hardly account..." said His Highness thoughtfully. "But— one moment! Is there a place called Sydney in it!"

"That's right!" exclaimed Tydvil. "A place with a wonderful harbour!"

"Now I recollect. They do talk about Sydney Harbour in Hell. It is one of the minor punishments. Yes, we did have some people from Sydney, but they caused so much trouble that the migration department deported them and prohibited further imports. I confused Australia with Austria for the moment. Ah, well! I am sure your country will provide an interesting study."

He again consulted the card to which he had before referred. It excited Tydvil's curiosity as a businessman. He summoned up his courage. "Would I be in order," he asked, "if I enquired the nature of that card you have twice consulted?'

"Most certainly, Mr. Jones, most certainly!" he responded politely. "Indeed, as a businessman, I have no doubt you will find it interesting. One of my recent innovations is a card system for keeping State accounts. It is necessary for record purposes to keep an account of all human actions. This is the master card. An improvement of my own. On it, every record I desire to examine appears immediately. It fades when I have finished with it."

Tydvil sat erect. "You mean to say you have a record of the lives of all living people?" he asked in amazement.

"Well, not exactly. Our records apply only to deeds which should not have been committed. And, of course, to words and thoughts also. They are kept to establish our claims when the inevitable occasion arises."

"I suppose, then," said Tydvil hesitantly, "you have a card for me in your system, then?"

"Undoubtedly, my friend." He had been holding the card in his hand. Then he looked up, smiling pleasantly. "Just for the sake of curiosity, we will see how our account stands."

He turned the master card over and ran his eyes down its columns. Then a queer expression came over the lean intellectual face. It combined astonishment with mystification. He stared at the card, then at Jones, and again at the card. Then he shook it tentatively, as one shakes a troublesome telephone. Finally he sat up and stared at Tydvil. There was no mistaking the astonishment of his expression.

"I hope," he faltered anxiously, "it is not so bad as your looks indicate?" His Highness paused before speaking. "Whether good or bad, Mr. Jones, depends on the viewpoint. I am not often surprised at anything, but I must admit your record is almost unique. I have seldom, in a long experience, seen anything similar. My dear sir, what a very dull time you must have had."

Tydvil's curiosity became insupportable. He looked at his visitor appealingly. And then said anxiously, half holding out his hand, "Might I?"

"Well, Mr. Jones, it is most unusual, and I scarcely care to create a precedent. But the present circumstances are exceptional. So we will stretch a point in this instance." And he passed the card into the eager hand.

Tydvil's hand shook as he glanced at it. "Why!" he exclaimed, looking up, "there is scarcely any thing on it."

"That, my dear sir, is the remarkable point. Most remarkable! I assure you! Why, do you know that for a man of your age the average number of entries would be from twenty to thirty thousand? And of those, at least fifteen per cent would be red. We put the more heinous entries in red so that they can be more easily noted. You, as you will notice, have not a single red debit against you but the last—the one that is responsible for my being here."

Tydvil was reading his card with concentrated interest. Suddenly he half stood up and ejaculated, "Oh! I say, this is not fair! I didn't, I'll swear I didn't!" His face reddened perceptibly.

"Surely you are mistaken. I assure you, Mr. Jones, our book-keeping system is infallible."

Jones handed back the card, and pointed to it with a finger that shook. "That entry, dated August 7. The one in the pale blue ink."

His Highness took the card and glanced at the entry. Then he shook a playful finger at Tydvil. "Come, come, my friend! The girl in pink with the dark eyes, on the Sydney railway platform! That is correct!"

"But I can't admit it," retorted Jones, a good deal nettled.

"My dear fellow," came the suave reply. "Your memory must be betraying you. You did not take delivery, certainly, but that does not cancel your obligation."

"Still," protested the delinquent, "there should be some allowance for a mere passing thought."

His Highness shook his head. "Impossible, my friend! Quite impossible! Still, it is only a trifle. These blue ink records are merely formal."

"By Jove!" exclaimed Tydvil, struck by a bright idea. "Would it be possible to see my wife's account?"

Mirth and gravity fought in the dark eyes, and mirth won. He laughed heartily and replied, "Oh, my friend! Consider a moment! What is your colloquial expression? Be a sport, eh? That would be hardly playing the game. As a matter of business, I ought to let you see it, but still..." He waved the thought away with his hand.

"Well, I don't know," replied Tydvil. "I am sure Amy would have no nice feelings about inspecting mine."

"Doubtless! What woman would hesitate if she had a chance of examining an accurate and impartial statement of her husband's little lapses?"

Jones chuckled at the idea. Much to his own surprise, he found himself accepting his visitor at his face value, and was also actually enjoying the unconventional interview. "If such a thing were possible, ennui would vanish from the world."

"And so would the human race," laughed His Highness. "No, it would not do at all."

Then he sat up and spoke seriously. "However, this is not business, is it? And I am afraid I am taking up a good deal of your valuable time. Now, what can I do for you?"

The abrupt question sobered Jones immediately. The idea that his visitor could be of any assistance to him had never entered his mind. Now the idea was implanted there, the thought of accepting anything from such a quarter shocked him. Doubtless his look betrayed the thought.

"Of course, Mr. Jones," said His Highness earnestly, "there is no compulsion on you to accept the specific service you mentioned when you asked for this interview. I would he very sorry to hold you to the letter of your word. Any man in your position may easily be excused for what he might say in a moment of irritation. Still, my obligation is very great, and I would like to show my gratitude."

There was no mistaking the sincerity of the words. The saying that his visitor was not so black as he was painted, flashed across Tydvil's mind. The other, watching, answered the unspoken thought. "There is a good deal of truth in that old saying," he said. "I suppose no one has been more maligned than I with less chance of defending himself. I am grateful even for that small concession."

As he spoke he drew a handsome cigarette case from his pocket. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all," answered Jones politely.

His Highness held out the open case. "You will join me?" he said pleasantly.

Jones shook his head. "Thank you, but I never smoke."

The other smiled quizzically. "Ah, my friend! You would be far better able to bear your troubles if you did. Self-denial comes to a point where it becomes self-righteousness—an unpleasant characteristic. Let me press you!" He again held out the case.

Jones looked at it indecisively. "I have often thought of beginning, but my wife detests the habit." His Highness raised his eyebrows in gentle mockery. "And," went on Jones, "it might make me sick."

The other laughed lightly. "Not one of these. Among other virtues, they have the quality of converting anyone who uses them into an habitual smoker, whom no tobacco, however strong, can upset."

Tydvil hesitated no longer, and placed one of the white cylinders between his lips. His Highness followed suit and, to Tydvil's astonishment, the moment it touched his lips it became alight. Then he bent forward, offering the glowing tip to his host.

Jones had no objection to tobacco, indeed, he really liked the aroma. Only the fear of Amy had kept him from indulging earlier. Now, as he drew the first fumes into his mouth, a delicious sense of contentment came over him.

"Well?" queried his guest through the blue smoke.

"Splendid!" quoth Tydvil.

"Good!" smiled His Highness. "And now we can resume our talk. I really hope that you are not going to refuse my offer," he went on persuasively.

"Well," said Tydvil reflectively; the first hesitation had vanished with the first cloud of smoke. "I really don't see what there is that you can do for me."

"There is very little I cannot do for you," came the suave answer. "One hesitates to say such a thing, but really, Mr. Jones, you have made singularly little use of your great opportunities. You have lived and so has a jellyfish. I'm afraid the analogy sounds rude, and I can readily excuse you for taking exception to it, but you must admit its justice."

"I admit I find life rather dull," conceded Tydvil a little ruefully. "Perhaps I would be more content with a little enjoyment." He stared at the smoke spirals from his cigarette without looking up.

"Well, it is all at your command. What would you have. Wealth?"

"I already have that."

"Health?"

"I am as sound as a bell and tough as hickory."

"Power?"

"I have sufficient."

"Ambition?"

"I have none that I have not already satisfied."

"Love of women?"

Jones looked up sharply. "I have had one experience in that direction," he said dryly, "and I am not hankering for any more, thank you."

"Oh! I mean the genuine kind," laughed His Highness. "Once bitten..." quoted Jones sourly. "I wouldn't take the risk."

"Pessimist!" chuckled the other.

"Maybe," came the short answer. "But if you had lived with Amy for ten years I know which of our residences you would prefer."

"What about the lighter side of life?" asked His Highness. "The joy of living."

Tydvil knitted his brows. "Yes," he said slowly. "I admit that appeals to me. But look how I am tied up. I am an example. A pious pattern. A guiding light. How could I break away from the family tradition? Sheer hypocrisy, I suppose! I am so used to being looked up to that it takes an effort to come down from my pedestal. I cannot have the fun in someone else's name.' He sighed a little in self pity.

"Quite possible, my friend," came the prompt answer. "Eh!" Jones looked up, startled.

"It would be easily possible for you to assume another identity for your enterprise," said His Highness, smiling.

"You don't mean to say..." The question stuck in Tydvil's throat.

"Exactly! But it rather complicates matters. You see, so long as the service you ask is an every day matter, I would give it gladly and without condition. The other would be subject to some restrictions which, I regret, are unavoidable."

"If you could guarantee individuality for my amusements, I don't think you would find me haggling over the terms," said Tydvil decisively.

"Of course," said His Highness, "it would be a mere formality. Allow me to give you another cigarette. A mere formality! I should have to ask you to give me a promissory note—for any term. The consideration being," he fixed his luminous eyes on Jones, "that you assume any individuality you desire, and call upon me for any service you desire, during the currency of the note. The note to be void if I fail in my service. I think that is generous enough."

"Undoubtedly," conceded Tydvil. "But," he went on hesitating, "what amount will be involved? I am willing to pay anything in reason."

"Oh, don't let us talk of money between friends!" said the other hastily. "We must put something in, of course. Say, for example—no! Let us go back to the old tradition—your soul it means nothing and makes the thing legal."

Tydvil looked at his visitor intently, and his gaze was met by another of disarming frankness. "Signed in blood and all that sort of thing?" he asked.

"Bosh! Ink is quite good enough," came the answer. "But," temporarised Jones, "would such an instrument be binding?"

"As doyen of the legal profession, my dear Mr. Jones, you may accept my assurance that it would be," answered His Highness easily.

"I didn't think the law would admit there would be property in a soul," said Tydvil thoughtfully.

The other blew a long, fine stream of smoke from his pursed lips. "I think," he said significantly, "that I could very easily convert anyone who adopted that view. However," he laughed slightly, and went on airily, "it is a mere formality and means nothing."

Jones sat thinking deeply. The idea was alluring. It gave him a chance to break from his rigid environment. Still he hesitated. Could this being be what he professed to be? There was still doubt in his mind. He looked up at his visitor, who was watching him intently.

"Mr. Jones," he said, "I can easily excuse your doubts in the circumstances, and am willing to submit to a test, anything you choose, before pressing you to take my offer."

Jones looked around the room. His eye lighted on the three-ton door of the strong-room. He alone held its keys. He turned to his friend. "Would it be possible for you to open that door without moving from your seat?"

His Highness nodded. "I will do more than you ask—watch!" As he spoke, the great door swung slowly and noiselessly out on its hinges. As its broad edge turned towards him, Jones gave a little cry of astonishment. He saw that, though it had opened, its twelve wrist-thick bolts remained shot. They must have been torn through the frame, but the frame remained intact.

"Je-ru-salem!" whistled Tydvil.

"Wait—I promised you something more."

As Jones looked back, something fluttered through the air and landed on the blotting pad before him. He gasped as he saw it was his private cheque book. That book, he knew, was locked in a smaller safe in the strong-room.

Jones looked an enquiry at His Highness, who nodded assent. Then he walked over to the open door and examined the bolts. Entering the strong-room, he unlocked the smaller safe. His cheque book was not there. Convinced, he returned to his chair. At a wave of the thin brown hand, the door closed as quietly as it had opened.

"You forgot to put away the cheque book," laughed Tydvil.

"Pardon," murmured His Highness. Leaning forward, he picked up the book and tossed it towards the steel door. It disappeared in mid flight. Jones stood up and opened the door with his keys and the combination. In the strong-room he found his cheque book back in its place.

Returning to his chair once more, he sat with his hands on the edge of his table, staring blankly at the blotting pad for a long minute. Then he came to swift decision. "I'll do it!" he said abruptly.

His visitor nodded, smiling. "I am really delighted to hear it. I assure you I take a great personal interest in you, Mr. Jones, and I feel certain you will have no cause to regret your determination. Now, let us arrange the formalities, and I will be in a position to take your instructions. Have you a promissory note form?"

With the air of a man who has burned his boats and enjoyed the process, Jones opened a small cash-box, from which he drew a small wad of stamped forms. Bending to select one, he hesitated. "By the way," he asked, "what stamps will be necessary?"

His Highness shook his head. "I scarcely follow you. Is a stamp necessary?"

"Decidedly! Under the Act," explained Tydvil, "it is necessary to have a duty stamp valued at sixpence on each note up to twenty-five pounds in value, one shilling up to fifty pounds, and an additional shilling for each further fifty pounds, or part of that amount. I would prefer to have the note unassailably legal."

The other waved his hand largely. "Why go to unnecessary expense—make it a sixpenny stamp, my dear fellow." Then, observing the flush on the face of Tydvil, he continued, "However, decide for yourself. I am afraid I was looking at it from my viewpoint rather than yours."

Jones still hesitated.

"You see, my friend, I am apt to regard a commodity as of low value when I can obtain millions of it for nothing—the world market parity for souls. Still, I see your point of view. Decide for yourself, my dear sir."

Jones chuckled. "I see, a purely commercial proposition, at ruling prices. It is not what I value it at, but what it would bring?"

"Precisely," answered his visitor cheerfully.

Tydvil drew a form with a sixpenny stamp on it from the wad, and laughed. "Here goes!" Preparing to write, he said, "Now, this is the first day of August—shall we say at three months?"

The other bowed. "I leave the details entirely in your hands, and with complete confidence." A very handsome testimonial coming from such a quarter.

Tydvil blushed with pride. "Very well! Three months, then. That will make it due on November fourth, allowing for the formal three days' grace." He wrote for a moment, and then looked up with a puzzled expression. "To whom shall I make it payable, you see..." he paused awkwardly.

His Highness smiled. "Of course, it would be hardly—well, a little unusual to make it payable to the Devil."

Jones nodded. "My idea exactly. And since we are likely to see a good deal of one another during the next three months, it might be as well to arrange for some conventional form of address at the same time."

His visitor reflected a moment. "There are so many names—Satan, The Devil, Lucifer, Ahrimanes, The Tempter, Prince of Darkness, of Evil— all very uncomplimentary, and even more inaccurate, and quite unsuitable for modern use, at any rate. Can you suggest anything yourself?"

Tydvil tried, but not hopefully. "The Dickens," he paused and, receiving no answer, went on, "Old Scratch, Old Nick..."

"All most offensive and familiar," retorted His Highness, somewhat nettled.

"Might I venture to suggest," Tydvil returned, "that we could use the last name I mentioned by paraphrasing it. We could change 'Old Nick' to Nicholas Senior. I think Mr. Nicholas Senior would be most suitable."

"Excellent, my friend, excellent!" agreed His Highness. "We will certainly make it Nicholas Senior."

"How about a title," put in Jones, persuasively. "Say, Sir Nicholas Senior, K.B.E."

"No," replied his friend. "On the whole I prefer to remain completely incog. Put it down to a natural humility."

Jones apologised. He felt there was a rebuke behind the words. Presently he paused again in his writing.

"Provided, when the note falls due, you have fulfilled your side of the contract, do you take immediate possession of the security?" he asked a little uneasily.

"Not at all! Not at all!" answered Mr. Senior hastily. "The usual terms apply in full. You retain a life interest in your soul, which I inherit on your death—that is, when you have no further use for it."

"Very generous," said Tydvil, looking relieved. Presently he looked up, and read from the form before him. "Dated August 1st, 1904. Due, November 4th, 1904. In place of the usual sum in figures I have written 'Soul.' Will that suffice?"

Mr. Senior nodded agreement.

"Three months after date," continued Jones, "I promise to pay Nicholas Senior, or order, my Immortal Soul for services to be rendered during the currency of this note. Payable at my offices in 3973 Flinders Lane, Melbourne. Signed, Tydvil Jones."

He handed the note across the table to Mr. Senior, who read it carefully. Then he turned the note face down, and, after writing on the back of it, he returned it to Jones for inspection.

This is the endorsement Jones read. The handwriting was exquisitely neat and clear. "If, during the currency of this note, I fail to perform any task or service of any description which I may be called upon to perform by the maker thereof, I agree that the note shall become automatically null and void. Nicholas R., et I."

"Very handsome, indeed, Mr. Senior," said Jones, handing back the note, "but I assure you, quite unnecessary."

Mr. Senior folded the document carefully, and placed it in his wallet. "We are both businessmen, my friend, and it is only right that my obligation should be set out in writing."

Jones stared at him a moment thoughtfully. "I suppose it is entirely legal. Not that I would think of trying to upset it."

There was a grim smile at the corners of the clean-cut mouth. "Not all the children of my very numerous family known as the Legal Profession, together, could upset it."

"It would be interesting to hear it argued," smiled Tydvil.

"Perhaps," from the still smiling lips. "But, as from the County Courts to the Privy Council I am represented on every bench...!" He flipped his fingers carelessly.

Then his mood changed. "And now, my friend, I am entirely at your service. Command me."

"I must think things over a little," replied Tydvil. "You see, this has come so suddenly and unexpectedly..." He was interrupted by the telephone bell.

"Excuse me one moment." He raised the receiver to his ear and listened a moment. Then he snorted out a curt "Very well!" and slammed it down again.

Then he turned abruptly to Mr. Senior. "My wife will be here in half an hour. I have no desire to meet her just now. Could you arrange some means of altering her intention?"

"Most certainly. A pleasure indeed," replied Mr. Senior lightly. "I will be most interested to meet the lady, who, I feel sure, is responsible for your own remarkable record—to a great extent. But after?"

Jones thought for a moment. "Can you meet me here about seven-thirty this evening?"

In answer to a nod of acquiescence, he went on, "That will suit me admirably, so, until then, I need not trouble you." He rose and looked at the door. "If I let you out by the door, it may cause comment. Miss Brand is not aware of your presence here."

"No matter," said Mr. Senior, "my goings and comings may be arranged otherwise."

"There will be no trouble about my wife?"

"Not the slightest! I will arrange to have her fully occupied for the remainder of the day." He held out his hand, which Tydvil shook warmly, and as he released it, Mr. Senior was not. He vanished.

For a long time Tydvil sat thinking. Then he took his hat, and leaving the warehouse, he turned into Elizabeth Street, there made certain purchases, and returned to his office.