Читать книгу Death Makes a Prophet - Ernest Elmore - Страница 16

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Hansford Boot in the days that followed made no effort to tackle Peta Penpeti directly about the matter. He followed the far more diplomatic course of waylaying Mrs. Hagge-Smith at every conceivable opportunity. He argued, with considerable common-sense, that Penpeti by himself constituted no real danger. It was only in alliance with Mrs. Hagge-Smith that he might try to undermine poor Eustace’s authority and wreck the Movement by dividing it. The great thing was to drive a wedge between Penpeti and his admirer.

Luckily for Hansford, it was about that time when Penpeti made a fateful mistake and played into his hands. It was a mistake that anybody in similar circumstances might have committed. Penpeti, quite unaware that he was about to touch off a keg of gunpowder, merely asked Mrs. Hagge-Smith for a loan. Now, if there was one thing that Mrs. Hagge-Smith hated beyond all other things, it was being touched for money. She was prepared to pay good salaries, subscribe generously to charities, lay a small fortune at the altar of her particular faith, but to be asked for money roused her to a fury. And in the case of Penpeti she felt it was even more irritating and inexcusable. Hadn’t she already granted him an annual emolument of five hundred pounds? And since he had no family to support, wasn’t that more than ample for his means? Wasn’t a simple life compatible with his status inside the Movement? Why did he want this extra money? Penpeti refused to say. It was in connection with a private matter.

“Pooh!” exclaimed Mrs. Hagge-Smith. “What right have you and I to private lives? We should have no life outside the Cause! None! I’m deeply shocked to hear you talk like this. And my dear Mr. Penpeti, never, never, never come to me again and ask for money!”

Penpeti departed from the presence a wiser and sadder man, and Hansford Boot realised that his criticism of the Prophet-in-Waiting was not falling on deaf ears. From that day there was a marked cooling off of Alicia’s interest in Penpeti and a new and welcome tendency to listen to Eustace without interrupting him. After all Eustace had never asked for a penny. Apart from the upkeep of a household worthy of his exalted position in the order, Eustace never spent a penny on his personal pleasures. He was annoyingly humble and unassertive but, bless the man, a sincere and devout servant of his faith. Alicia wondered if she hadn’t been a little hasty and misjudged Eustace.

In the meantime Penpeti, suddenly realising the new precariousness of his position, became increasingly worried. He had got to have that money. But how, in the name of Thoth, Set, and Mut, was he to raise the wind? Eustace? There was absolutely no hope in that direction and in any case he hated the idea of being under any obligation to Eustace. He had never liked his superior’s pious manner and undoubted integrity. It made him feel rather cheap and uncomfortable. Moreover it was Eustace who stood between him and the incredibly handsome salary of five thousand a year. Mrs. Hagge-Smith had made that quite plain. The High Prophet designate once he stepped into Eustace’s shoes, would automatically receive a High Prophet’s salary. The whole matter had been legalised through her solicitors. Even in the unlikely event of Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s premature departure into the arms of Osiris, that five thousand a year was assured. But what real hope was there of immediate promotion? None. Eustace with his rational feeding and simple tastes would probably last for years. It was a tantalising situation and one that made Penpeti’s present position even more unbearable.

And then, with a flash of sheer inspiration, Penpeti thought of Penelope Parker. She was not his type and her anaemic mysticism annoyed him profoundly. He disliked her floating veils, her tendency to go off into trances at the slightest provocation, but as a possible pigeon to pluck she had one great advantage. She admired him without reservation. She had made this clear to him, more than once, with a frankness that was embarrassing. But as his taste in women was nearer to Rubens than Burne-Jones, Penpeti had remained austere and correct. His attitude to her had been monastic. But now, on the principle that beggars could not be choosers, Penpeti squared himself up for conquest. He decided to see Penelope alone on every possible occasion, to steal aside, as it were, her gauzy veils one by one, until he came (as he felt quite sure he would) to the eternal Eve lurking beneath them.