Читать книгу Paul Quentin - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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Dugdale nodded, but wondered where he had heard the name of Quentin before. It came to him later as he strolled back towards his humble rooms. He recollected that it had appeared in the papers a good deal of late. Nobody seemed to know quite who he was or whence he came. Even his nationality was more or less obscure. But he was supposed to be rich and eccentric. He was credited with the invention of more than one scientific appliance, and was supposed to be in England now with a view to developing something or other which was to revolutionise the uses of electricity. The man had travelled a vast deal in foreign parts and was believed to possess an intimate knowledge of the East and its mysterious ways; in fact, so Dugdale had gathered, he was a scientific adventurer, ambitious to make his mark. And, Dugdale admitted, a man with a face like Quentin's was capable of any intellectual achievement. His fascinating yet curiously repellant countenance was constantly before Dugdale on his way homewards.

He was conscious, too, that he did not feel all the gratitude he should. He was glad enough to get the money; indeed, at the moment he would have taken it from anybody. In a thoroughly illogical way, however, he wished that it had come from someone else.

At any rate, his duty lay plainly enough before him. He would have to go to Quentin's place to-morrow to thank him for his kindness and return the balance of the money. It was not until he reached home that he recollected he had no notion of where Quentin was staying. But that matter might be solved by a visit to a friend of his, a free-lance journalist, who knew everybody and where everybody was to be found. Quentin had been somewhat shy of interviewers, but Macpherson had managed to get enough out of him to form an attractive column for his favourite paper.

Macpherson proved communicative. He gave a graphic description of Quentin, and where he could be seen. An hour later Dugdale knocked at the door of a gloomy-looking house in Glover Street, where a staid housekeeper in black opened the door and shook her head dubiously when Dugdale asked to see Mr Quentin.

"I don't know whether you can see him or not, sir," the woman said. "As a rule, he dislikes callers, and gives orders that they are not to be admitted. But perhaps you would like to see his secretary, Mr Grenadus?"

"He would do as well, perhaps," Dugdale said.

He was shown into a pleasant room on the second floor at the back of the house, beyond the window of which was a conservatory filled with gorgeous tropical flowers. There was no view beyond these. The glass of the conservatory was stained a pale pink, so that the light from the room itself was dim and almost sombre. The apartment was magnificently furnished in Oriental style, and reminded Dugdale of a place in Smyrna where he had once passed a few weeks. A man seated at a writing-table rose and bowed slightly, and Dugdale half extended his hand. Then he drew back with a puzzled expression.

"I beg your pardon," he murmured. "For the moment I thought I was speaking to Mr Quentin himself."

The man smiled. His features certainly bore a remarkable likeness to those of Quentin. There was the same refinement, the same clearness of outline, the same suggestion of intellectual strength. There was the strong jaw and straight red mouth, but the hair was a curly black and the eyes were dark brown, with specks of yellow in the iris. No doubt a relation of Quentin's, Dugdale thought; then realised that it was no business of his in any case.

"We are rather alike," the stranger smiled. "But my name is Grenadus. I am Mr Quentin's private secretary, and you may say anything to me you would say to him. But why take the trouble to come here, Mr Dugdale? I assure you there was no hurry. Mr Quentin is only too pleased to be in a position to accommodate you. No thanks, please."

"This is extraordinary," Dugdale murmured. "I see you know everything, and I will be quite free with you. It was exceedingly considerate of Mr Quentin to help me; indeed, I am at a loss to know why he should assist me at all."

"Quentin is a law unto himself," the private secretary said. "He never does anything like other people. Of course, I can't say, but I fancy he is interested in you. I understand you have a good record, and that you are looking out for something to do. Now I wonder if you would like to undertake a commission for my employer? I must tell you that there is an element of danger about it. You will have to be discreet and silent and do exactly as you are told. In this matter you may see Mr Quentin or you may not. At the present stage everything is left to me."

"Anything that is honest," Dugdale began. "I am——"

"Oh, quite so," Grenadus interrupted with a queer smile. "That goes without saying. If you are willing to undertake this commission I shall be glad to engage you at once. Let us assume that you have had a retaining fee of fifteen pounds, and that you are to be paid at the rate of two hundred pounds a year for expenses. Does that satisfy you, Mr Dugdale?"

"It is more than satisfactory," Dugdale replied.

"You have a deal to learn," Grenadus continued with the same dry smile. "You might have asked double the money and got it. But that does not concern me. We must have a gentleman, which you are, a man of courage, where again you fulfill the requirements. That, you can be discreet and silent, your record in South Africa shows. I believe you are well acquainted with Mr Theo Isidore."

"Oh, assuredly," Dugdale said with a red face. "My experiences with him seem to be unfortunate. I don't know whether he really sent for me last night or whether I was a victim of a cruel hoax. But it serves me right. I ought never to have written to that man."

"You appear to dislike him, then?"

"Very much indeed. He is a thoroughly bad lot despite his money. When I first knew him he was in a very different position from what he now fills. I should never have approached him at all except that I was penniless and reckless, and now, thanks to Mr Quentin——"

"Quite so, quite so," the secretary broke in. "We won't go into that again. Perhaps you wonder why I mentioned Mr Isidore's name, but I am coming to that. I suppose, like everybody else in London, you know all about the 'Marlborough Magazine.' Whatever you may think of Mr Isidore, you are bound to admit that it is a wonderful publication. Those coloured illustrations are perfect works of art. One wonders how much Isidore will drop over the venture. But, still, that is no business of ours."

"I have seen the first number, of course," Dugdale said. "I see there is a flaming account in to-day's papers of the Yellow dinner at the Blenheim last night. Isn't that a copy of the second number on your table?"

Grenadus smiled as he stretched out a long thin hand and took up the magazine, the yellow cover of which was now familiar enough to the public. He turned over the highly-calendered pages till he came at length to the oracle of which he was in search. He beckoned Dugdale to his side.

"I want you to look at this," he said. "Perhaps you have already read the number?"

"Not yet," Dugdale admitted. "You see I couldn't afford to buy it, and I haven't been in one of the libraries."

"Well, take this away with you. I want you to read the story entitled 'The Purple Curtain.' Like the rest of the contributors, the writer prefers to remain anonymous; indeed, that is the stipulation which Isidore makes. The story is a good enough one of the dramatic kind, though I am afraid there is nothing in it which is likely to help you in the search which you are about to undertake on our behalf. Still, one never can tell, and you had better read the story carefully. But what I wish to call your particular attention to is this illustration. As you see, it represents a pretty girl looking out of the window of an old-fashioned house. In one corner is an old piece of French furniture on which stands a vase. Now tell me, have you ever seen a vase like that before?"'

Dugdale turned with the greatest interest to the picture. On the face of it there was nothing out of the common, but the deep impressive note which had now come into Grenadus's voice was not without its effect. The picture in the 'Marlborough Magazine' was a striking one. The girl's figure stood out lithe and dimly grey against the background, but what did appeal to Dugdale was the vase in one corner, which was drawn with an elaboration of detail that left nothing to be desired. The vase appeared to be some two feet in height, and was supported by three ormolu dragons quaintly intertwisted. The colours stood out with a fidelity and realism which pointed to the original being an actual work of art. The pedestal was slightly chipped, and a small fragment of the cover was missing.

"Evidently of great value," Dugdale murmured. "Yes, I saw something like it years ago, when I managed to gain admission to the Summer Palace at Pekin."

"Absolutely correct," Grenadus said in the same curiously dry voice. "There were only two of those vases ever made—the one you saw at Pekin; the other forms the subject of this illustration. That was drawn from the real thing itself. The vase mysteriously disappeared some years ago from a private collection, and has never been heard of since. That it is still in existence this drawing in the 'Marlborough Magazine' clearly proves. Now, I want you to take this away with you and study that priceless piece of china till you are familiar with it in every detail. When you feel competent to deal with the matter I will give you your instructions."

"But I am equal to that now," Dugdale urged. "Did I not indicate the origin of the vase at a glance? And if I saw the real thing I should not be at all likely to be deceived, seeing that I recognised it from a water-colour drawing."

"True," Grenadus said thoughtfully. "And now, before you begin, there is one thing I must warn you against. On no account are you to make any inquiries through the publishers or printers of the 'Marlborough Magazine.' That is a sine qua non. Now, if you will excuse me for a moment, I will go into Mr Quentin's room and speak to him. I should like to consult him before going farther. Of course, it is a mere matter of form."

Grenadus disappeared, leaving Dugdale hopeful but anxious. The secretary came back a moment later with a smiling air. He took a cheque book from a drawer and filled in a draft for fifty pounds. This he handed to Dugdale with an intimation that it was for current expenses.

"But what am I to do?" the latter asked.

"Do!" Grenadus echoed. "Don't you understand? It will be your task to find the Dragon Vase."