City of Pleasure Fa 0000 Benn

nunc cognosco ex parte
TRENT UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
THE CITY OF PLEASURE
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
NOVELS.
A MAN FROM THE NORTH.
ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS.
LEONORA.
A GRFAT MAN.
SACRFD AND PROFANE LOVE.
WHOM GOD HATH JOINED.
FANTASIAS.
THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL-
THE GATES OF WRATH.
TERESA OF WATLING STREET.
THE LOOT OF CITIES.
HUGO.
THE GHOST.
SHORT STORIES.
TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS.
THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS.
BELLES-LETTRES.
JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN.
FAME AND FICTION.
HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR.
THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR.
THE REASONABLE LIFE.
DRAMA.
POLITE FARCES.
(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS.)
THE SINEWS OF WAR: A Romance.

THE
CITY OF PLEASURE
A FANTASIA ON MODERN THEMES
BY
ARNOLD BENNETT
AUTHOR OF
‘ THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL,’ ‘ HUGO,’ ‘ ANNA OF THE FIVE
TOWNS,’ ETC.
TORONTO
BELL & COCKBURN
CONTENTS
PART I
CARPENTARIA
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OVER THE CITY - - - - i

II. INTERVIEWED - - - - - 10
III. INSPIRATION - - - - 22
IV. MRS. I LAM - - - - 27
V. THE BAND - - - - -32
VI. THE BLACK BURDEN - - - ‘43
VII. THE CAT - - - - 52
VIII. DISAPPEARANCE OF JULIETTE - - - 62
IX. THE DEAD DOG - - - - "73
X. A PINCH OF SNUFF - - - ‘78
XI. THE RETURN TO LIFE - - - - 84
XII. ON THE WHEEL - - - - go
XIII. PERFORMANCES OF MR. JETSAM - - "99
PART II
THE TWINS
XIV. ENTRY OF THE TWINS - 107

XV. PROPOSAL OF JOSEPHUS- - - - Il8
XVI. THE BOX - - - - - 128
XVII. THE MAN ON THE BALCONY - - - 136
XVIII. AN ARRANGEMENT FOR A MARRIAGE - - 148
XIX. THE HEART OF THE CITY - - - 160
XX. WHAT JETSAM WANTED - - - 168
XXI. INTERRUPTING A CONCERT - - - 179
XXII. CARPENTARIA AS DETECTIVE - - - I90
XXIII. THE TALK IN THE GARDEN - - - 200
VI CONTENTS
PART III
JETSAM
CHAPTER
PAGE
XXIV. THE BOAT
211
XXV. A WHOLESALE DEPARTURE 223
XXVI. THE EMPTY BEDROOM - 231
XXVII. THE PHOTOGRAPH
239
XXVIII. THE DEAD MARCH
257
XXIX. MR. JETSAM’S RECITAL -
270
XXX. THE WORDS OF MRS. I LAM 288
XXXI. UNISON
302
THE CITY OF PLEASURE
PART I
CARPENTARIA
CHAPTER I
OVER THE CITY
‘ Carpentaria !’
One of the three richly-uniformed officials who
were in charge of the captive balloon, destined to
be a leading attraction of the City of Pleasure,
murmured this name warningly to his companions,
as if to advise them that the moment had arrived
for them to mind their p’s and q’s. And each man
looked cautiously through the tail of his eye at
a striking figure which was approaching through
crowds of people to the enclosure. The figure
was tall and had red hair and a masterful face, and
it was clothed in a blue suit that set off the red hair
to perfection. Over the wicket of the enclosure a
small enamelled sign had been hung:
«CITY OF PLEASURE.
'President: Josephus Ilam.
' Managing and Musical Director: Charles Carpentaria.
* Balloon Ascents every half-hour after three o’clock. Height of a

thousand feet guaranteed. Seats, half-a-crown, including field-glass.'
I
2 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
The sign was slightly askew, and the approach¬

ing figure tapped it into position, and then entered
the enclosure.
‘ Good afternoon,’ it said. ‘ Everything ready?’
‘’d afternoon, Mr. Carpentaria,’ said the head
balloonist respectfully. ‘Yes, sir.’
The three men with considerable ostentation
busied themselves among ropes, while a young
man in gold-rimmed spectacles gazed with sudden
self-consciousness into the far distance, just as if
he had that very instant discovered something
there that demanded the whole of his atten¬
tion.
‘ Going up, sir ?’ inquired the head balloonist.
‘ Yes,’replied Carpentaria. ‘Mr. Ilam and I
are going up together. We have time, haven’t
we ? It’s only half-past two.’
‘ Yes, sir.’
Carpentaria examined the vast balloon, which
was trembling and swaying and lugging with that
aspiration towards heaven and the infinite so
characteristic of well-filled balloons. He ignored
the young man in spectacles.
‘ Where’s the parachutist ?’ Carpentaria de¬
manded.
A parachutist was to give dclat to the first public
ascent of the silken monster by dropping from
it into the Thames or somewhere else. His
apparatus hung beneath the great circular car.
OVER THE CITY 3
* He’ll be here before three, sir,’ said the head
balloonist.
‘ He’s been here once, sir,’ added the second
balloonist, anxious to prove to himself that he
also had the right to converse with the mighty
Carpentaria.
A few seconds later the august President arrived.
Mr. Josephus Ilam was tall, like his partner, but
much stouter. He had, indeed, almost the inflated
appearance which one observes constantly in the
drivers of brewers’ drays ; even his fingers bulged.
His age was fifty, ten years more than that of
Carpentaria, and it was probably ten years since
he had seen his own feet. Finally, he was clean¬
shaven, with areas of blue on his chin and cheeks
like the sea on a map, and his hair—what remained
of it—seemed to be hesitating between black and
grey.
1 What’s the matter ?’ he asked of Carpentaria.
‘Oh, I thought I would just like to make the
first ascent with you alone,’ Carpentaria answered,
and added, smiling, ‘ I have something to show
you up there.’
His hand indicated the firmament, and his
peculiar smile indicated that he took Ilam’s con¬
sent for granted.
Ilam sighed obesely, and agreed. He did not
care to argue before members of the staff. Never¬
theless, the futility of ascending to the skies on this,
I-2
the opening day, when the colossal organism ot

the show cried aloud for continual supervision on
earth, was sufficiently clear to his mind. He
climbed gingerly over the edge of the wickerwork
car, which had a circumference of thirty feet, w’ith
a protected aperture in the middle, and Carpentaria
followed him.
‘ Let go,’ said Carpentaria, gleefully. * Let go !’
he repeated with impatience, when the balloon was
arrested at a height of about ten feet.
‘ Right sir,’ responded briskly the head bal¬
loonist. There appeared to have been some
altercation between the balloonists.
The day was the first of May, but the London
spring had chosen to be capricious and unseason¬
able. Instead of the snow and frost and east
wind which almost invariably accompany what is
termed, with ferocious irony, the merry month,
there was strong, brilliant sunshine and a perfect
calm. The sun glinted and glittered on the
upper surfaces of the balloon, but of course the
voyagers could not perceive that. They, in fact,
perceived nothing except that the entire world
was gradually falling away from them. The
balloon had ceased to shiver ; it stood as firm as
consols, while the City of Pleasure sank and sank,
and the upturned faces of more than fifty thousand
spectators grew tinier and tinier.
It would be interesting and certainly instructive
OVER THE CITY 5
to unfold some of the many mysteries and minor
dramas which had diversified the history of the
making of the City of Pleasure, from the time
when Carpentaria, having conceived the idea of
the thing, found the necessary millionaire in the
person of Josephus Ilam, to the hurried and
tumultuous eve of the opening day ; but these
are unconnected with the present recital. It
needs only to remind the reader of the City’s
geography. Towards the lower left-hand corner
of any map of London not later than 1905, may
be observed a large, nearly empty space in the
form of an inverted letter ‘ U.’ This space is
bounded everywhere, except across the bottom,
by the Thames. It is indeed a peninsula made
by an extraordinary curve of the Thames, and
Barnes Common connects it with the mainland of
the parish of Putney. Its dimensions are little
short of a mile either way, and yet, although
Hammersmith Bridge joins it to Hammersmith
at the top, it was almost uninhabited, save for the
houses which lined Bridge Road and a scattering
of houses in Lonsdale Road and the short streets
between Lonsdale Road and the reservoir near
the bridge. The contrast was violent; on the
north side of the Thames the crowded populous¬
ness of Hammersmith, and on the south side—
well, possibly four people to the acre.
Ilam and Carpentaria, with Ilam’s money,
bought or leased the whole of the middle part of

the peninsula—over three hundred acres—with
a glorious half-mile frontage to the Thames on
the east side. They would have acquired all
the earth as far as Barnes Common but for the
fact that the monomaniacs of the Ranelagh Club
Golf Course could not be induced to part with
their links, even when offered a fantastic number
of thousand pounds per hole. They obtained the
closing of the Bridge Road, which cut the peninsula
downwards into two halves, and the omnibus traffic
between Hammersmith and Barnes was diverted to
Lonsdale Road—not without terrific diplomacy,
and pitched battles in the columns of newspapers
and in Local Government offices. They pulled
down every house in Bridge Road, thus breaking
up some seventy presumably happy English homes,
and then they started upon the erection of the
City of Pleasure, which they intended to be, and
which all the world now admits to be, the most
gigantic enterprise of amusement that Europe has
ever seen.
As the balloon rose the general conformation
of the City of Pleasure became visible. Run¬
ning almost north and south from Hammersmith
Bridge was the Central Way, the splendid
private thoroughfare which had superseded Bridge
Road. It was a hundred feet wide, and its sur-
ace was treated with westrumite, and a service of
OVER THE CITY 7
gaily coloured cable-cars flashed along it in either
direction, between the north and the south
entrances to the City. It was lined with multi¬
farious buildings, all painted cream—the theatre,
the variety theatre, the concert hall, the circus,
the panorama, the lecture hall, the menagerie,
the art gallery, the story-tellers’ hall, the dancing-
rooms, restaurants, cafes and bars, and those
numerous shops for the sale of useless and ex¬
pensive souvenirs without which the happiness of
no Briton on a holiday is complete. The foot¬
paths, 20 feet wide, were roofed with glass, and
between the footpaths and the roadway came
two rows of trees which were industriously taking
advantage of the weather to put forth their ver¬
dure. Footpaths and road were thronged with
people, and the street was made gay, not only by
the toilettes and sunshades of women, but also by
processions of elephants, camels, and other wild¬
fowl, bearing children of all ages in charge of
gorgeous Indians and Ethiops. From every roof
floated great crimson flags with the legend in gold :
* City of Pleasure. President: Ilam ; Director :
Carpentaria.’ Add to this combined effect the
music of bands and the sunshine, and do not
forget the virgin creaminess of the elaborate
architecture, and you will be able to form a notion
of the spectacle offered by the esplanade upon
which Ilam and Carpentaria looked down.
Midway between the north and south entrances,

the Central Way expanded itself into a circular
place, with a twenty-jetted bronze fountain in the
middle. To the west was the fa9ade of what was
called the Exposition Palace, an enormous quad¬
rangular building, containing a huge covered court
which, with its balconies, would hold twenty thou¬
sand people on wet days. The galleries of the
palace were devoted to an exhibition of every¬
thing that related to woman, from high-heeled
shoes to thrones; it was astonishing how many
things did relate to woman. North of the
Exposition Palace stretched out the Amusements
Park, where people looped the loop, shot the
shute, wheeled the wheel, switched the switch-
back, etc. ; and here was the balloon enclosure.
South of the palace lay the Sports Fields, where a
cricket match was progressing.
Finally, and most important of all, to the east
of the circular place in Central Way rose the
impressive entrance to the Oriental Gardens, the
pride of Ilam and Carpentaria. The Oriental
Gardens occupied the entire eastern side of the
City, and they sloped down to the Thames. They
formed over a hundred acres of gardens, wood,
and pleasaunce, laid out with formal magnificence.
Flowers bloomed there in defiance of seasons.
On every hand the eye was met by vistas of trees
and shrubs, and by lawns and statues, and lakes
OVER THE CITY 9
and fountains. In the middle was Carpentaria’s
own special bandstand. A terrace, two thousand
five hundred feet long, bordered the river, and
from the terrace jutted out a pier at which steamers
were unloading visitors.
CHAPTER II
INTERVIEWED
The occupants of the balloon could see every¬

thing. They saw the debarcation from the
steamers; they saw the unending crowd of doll-
like persons thrown up out of the ground by the
new Tube station at the south end of Hammer¬
smith Bridge; they saw the heavy persistent
stream of vehicles and pedestrians over the
bridge; they saw the trains approaching Barnes
on the South-Western Railway ; they saw the
struggles for admittance at all the gates of the
City; they even saw flocks of people streaming
Cityward along the Barnes High Street and the
Lower Richmond Road. It was not for nothing
that advertisements of the City of Pleasure had
filled one solid page of every daily paper in
London, and many in the provinces, for a week
past. Visitors were now entering the city at the
rate of seventy thousand an hour, at a shilling a
head.
There was a gentle tug beneath the car. The
io
INTERVIEWED 11
thousand feet of rope had been paid out, and the

balloon hung motionless.
Then a faint noise, something between the
crackling of musketry and the surge of waves on
a pebbly beach, ascended from the city,
‘ They’re cheering,’ said Josephus Ilam. ‘ What
for ?’
‘Cheering us, of course,’ answered Carpentaria
excitedly. ‘ Isn’t it immense?’
‘Immense?’ said Ilam heavily. ‘It’s hot.
What did you want to show me up here ?’
‘ That!’ exclaimed Carpentaria, pointing below
to the city with a superb gesture. ‘ And that!’
he added passionately, pointing with another
gesture to the whole of London, which lay spread
out with all its towers and steeples and its blanket
of smoke, tremendous and interminable to the
east. ‘ That is our prey,’ he said, ‘our food.’
And he began to sing the Toreador song from
‘Carmen,’ exultantly launching the notes into the
sky.
‘Mr. Carpentaria,’ said Josephus Ilam, with
unexpected bitterness, ‘ is this your idea of a
joke ? Bringing me up here to see London and
our show, as if I didn’t know London and our
show like my pocket!’
Ilam’s concealed hatred of Carpentaria, which
had been slowly growing for more than a year, as
a fire spreads secretly in the hold of a ship,
seemed to spurt out a swift tongue of flame in

the acrimony of his tone. Carpentaria was
startled. Even then, in a sudden flash of
illumination, he grasped to a certain extent the
import of Ilam’s attitude towards him, but he did
not grasp it fully. How should he ?
‘ Why,’ he said to himself, ‘ I believe the old
johnny dislikes me! What on earth for? He
could not understand all Ilam’s reasons. ‘ Pity !’
he reflected further. ‘ If the managers of a show
like this can’t hit it off together, there may be
trouble.’
In which supposition he was infinitely more
right than he imagined.
He balanced himself lightly on the edge of the
car, his left leg dangling, and seized one of the
field-glasses which hung secured by thin steel
chains round the inside of the wicker parapet,
and putting it to his eyes, he gazed down at the
Oriental Gardens. He must have seen some¬
thing there that profoundly interested him, for
the glasses remained glued to his eyes for a long
time.
‘ I repeat,’ said Ilam firmly, standing up, 1 is
this your idea of a joke ?’
He was close to Carpentaria, and his glance
was vicious.
‘ My friend,’ murmured Carpentaria, dropping
the glasses. ‘ What’s the matter with you is that
INTERVIEWED 13
you aren’t an artist, not a bit of one. You are an

excellent fellow, with a splendid head for figures,
and I respect you enormously, but you haven’t
the artistic sense. If you had you would share
the thrill which I feel as I survey our creation and
that London over there. You would appreciate
why I brought you up here.’
‘I’m a business man—a plain business man,
that’s what I am,’ said Ilam. ‘ I’ve never
pretended to be an artist, and I don’t want to
be an artist. Let me tell you that I ought to
be in the advertisement department, and not
canoodling my time away up here, Mr. Car¬
pentaria.
‘ My dear sir,’ said Carpentaria hastily, ‘ accept
my apologies. Let us descend at once.’
‘And while I’m about it,’ pursued Ilam un-
heedingly—his irritation was like a stone rolling
down a hill—‘while I’m about it, I’ll point out
that your objection to having advertisements on
the walls of the restaurants is fatuous.’
‘ But, my dear Ilam,’ Carpentaria protested,
‘people don’t care to have to read advertisements
while they’re at their meals. It puts them off.
For instance, to have it dinned into you that
G. H. Mumm is the only champagne worth drink¬
ing when you happen to be drinking Heidsieck,
or to have Wall’s sausages thrust down your
throat while you are toying with an ice-cream
i4 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
_people don’t like it. We must think of our

patrons. And, besides, it s so inarti *
‘ Rubbish !’ said Ilam. ‘ One way and another
these ads. would be worth a hundred a week
to us.’
‘ Well, and what’s a hundred a week ?’
* It’s the interest on a hundred and twenty
thousand pounds,’ Ilam replied vivaciously. ‘ And
there’s another thing. It would be much better
if you employed more time in inspection instead
of rehearsing and conducting your precious band.
Any fool can conduct a band. Give me a stick
and I’d do it myself. But inspection-’
* My precious band !’ stammered Carpentaria,
aghast.
His very soul was laid low ; and considering
that Carpentaria’s Band had been famous in the
capitals of two continents for twelve years at least,
it was not surprising that his soul should be laid
low by this terrible phrase.
* Yes,’ said Ilam, ‘ I’ve had enough of it.’ His
shoulder touched Carpentaria’s, and his eyes—
little, like a pig’s—shot arrows of light. * Sup¬
posing I shoved you over ? I should have the
concern to myself then, and no foolish interfer¬
ence.’
He twisted his face into a grim laugh.
‘You have a sense of humour, after all, Ilam,’
responded gaily the man on the edge of the car,
INTERVIEWED i5
fingering his long red moustache, and he, too,

laughed, but he got down from his perch.
‘ I’d just like you to comprehend--’ Ilam
began again.
But at that instant a head appeared above the
edge of the central aperture of the car, and Ilam
stopped.
It was the head of the young man in spectacles
—gold-rimmed spectacles.
* I’m Smithers, of the Morning Herald,’ said
the young man brightly and calmly, ‘ and I took
this opportunity of seeing you privately. Your
men objected when I got into the parachute
attachment, but you told ’em to let go, and so they
let go. I’ve had some difficulty in climbing up
here off the parachute bar. Dangerous, rather.
However, I’ve done it. I daresay you heard the
crowd cheering.’
‘ So it was him they were cheering,’ muttered
Ilam, and then looked at Carpentaria.
Ilam was not a genius in the art of conversa¬
tion. He could only say what he meant, and
when the running of the City of Pleasure de¬
manded the art of conversation he relied on
Carpentaria, even if he was furious with
him.
‘ What’s the game ?’ asked Carpentaria.
‘ Well,’ said Smithers politely, ‘ don’t you think
I deserve an interview ?’
* You know we have absolutely declined all

interviews.’
‘ Yes, that’s why the Herald wants one so
badly ; that’s why I’m dangling a thousand feet
above my grave.’
Carpentaria and Ilam exchanged glances. Each
read the thought of the other—that the spectacled
Smithers might have overheard their conversa¬
tion, and should therefore be handled with care,
this side up. ‘ Leave it to me,’ said the eyes of
Carpentaria to the eyes of Ilam.
‘Mr. Smithers, of the Herald'1—Carpentaria
blossomed into the flowers of speech—‘ we heartily
applaud your courage and your devotion to duty
in a profession full of perils, but you are tres¬
passing.’
‘Excuse me, I’m not,’ said Smithers. ‘You
can only trespass on land and water, and this
isn’t a salmon river or a forbidden footpath.
Besides, I’ve got my press season-ticket. Come
now, talk to me.’
‘ We are talking to you.’
‘ I mean, answer my questions, for the benefit
of humanity. I’m the father of a family with
two penniless aunts, and the Herald will prob¬
ably sack me if I fail in this interview. Think of
that.’ *
‘ I prefer not to think oi^Jt,’ said Carpentaria.

* However, we will answer any reasonable
INTERVIEWED 17
questions you care to put to us, on one con¬
dition.’
‘ Name it,’ snapped Smithers.
‘ I will name it afterwards,’ said Carpentaria,
looking at Ilam.
‘ All right,’ sighed Smithers, ‘ I agree, whatever
it is.’
* You look like an honourable man. I shall
trust you,’ Carpentaria remarked.
‘Journalists are always honourable,’ said
Smithers. ‘ It is their employers who sometimes
—however, that’s neither here nor there. You may
trust me. Now tell me. Why this objection to
interviews ? That’s what’s puzzling the public.
You’re a business concern, aren’t you ?’
‘ That’s just the reason,’ said Carpentaria.
‘ We aren’t a star-actor or a bogus company.
We’re above interviews, we are. Do you catch
Smith and Son, or Cook’s, or the North-Western
Railway, or Mrs. Humphry Ward having them¬
selves interviewed ?’
‘ Not much,’ ejaculated Ilam glumly.
‘ People who refuse to be interviewed have a
status that other people can never have. Our
business is our business. When we want the
public to know anything, we take a page in the
Herald, say, and pay two hundred and fifty pounds
for it, and inform the public exactly what we do
want ’em to know, in our own words. We do
2
not require the assistance of interviewers. There’s

the whole secret. What next ?’
‘That seems pretty straight,’ Smithers agreed.
‘ Another thing. Why have you gone and called
this concern the City of Pleasure ?’
‘ Because it is the City of Pleasure,’ growled
I lam.
‘Yes. But it seems rather a fancy name,
doesn’t it ?—rather too poetical, highfalutin ?’
‘ That’s merely because you journalists never
have any imagination,’ Carpentaria explained.
‘You aren’t used to this name yet. It was you
journalists who cried out that the Crystal Palace
was a too poetical and highfalutin name for
that glass wigwam over there ’—and he pointed
to the twin towers of Sydenham in the distance
—‘ but you’ve got used to it, and you admit now
that it is the Crystal Palace and couldn’t be any¬
thing else.’
Smithers laughed.
‘ Good !’ said he. ‘ All that’s nothing. Let
me come to the core of the apple. Do you expect
this thing to pay ? Do you really mean it to pay,
or is it only a millionaire’s lark ? You know all
the experts are saying it can’t pay.5
‘ Can’t it ?’ ejaculated I lam.
‘We shall take fifteen thousand pounds at the
gates to-day,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ The highest
attendance in any one day at the Paris Exhibi-
INTERVIEWED 19
tion of 1900 was six hundred thousand. Do you

imagine we can’t equal that ? We shall surpass
it, sir. Wait for our August fetes. Wait for our
Congress of Trade Unions in September, and
you will see! The average total attendance at
the last three Paris exhibitions has been forty-
five millions. We hope to reach fifty millions.
But suppose we only reach forty millions. That
means two million pounds in gates alone ; and
let me remind you that the minor activities of
this show are self-supporting. Why, the Chicago
Exhibition made a profit of nearly a million and a
half dollars. Do you suppose we can’t beat that,
with a city of six million people at our doors, and
the millions of Lancashire and Yorkshire within
four hours of us ?’
‘But Chicago was State-aided,’ Mr. Smithers
ventured.
‘State-aided!’ cried Ilam. ‘Chicago was the
worst-managed show in the history of shows,
except St. Louis. If the State came to me I
should—I should-’
‘ Offer it a penny to go away and play in the
next street.’ Carpentaria finished his sentence for
him.
‘ You interest me extremely,’ said the jour¬
nalist. ‘ And now, as to the number of your
employes.’
He chuckled to himself with glee at the splendid
2—2
interview he was getting out of Carpentaria and

Ilam as they obligingly responded to his queries.
It was Ilam who at last revolted, and insisted that
he must descend.
‘ Now for my condition,’ said Carpentaria.
‘ Let’s have it,’ said the journalist.
‘ You asked us to talk to you and we have
talked to you. The condition is that you regard
all you have heard up here as strictly confidential
mind, all! You tell no one ; you print nothing.
Remember, you are an honourable man.’
‘ But this is farcical,’ Smithers expostulated.
‘ Not at all,’ said Carpentaria sweetly. ‘ Do
you imagine that because you have an inordinate
amount of cheek, a family and two penniless aunts,
we are going to break the habits of a life-time ?
For myself, I have never been interviewed.’
Is this your last word ?’ the journalist de¬
manded.
‘ It is,’ said Carpentaria.
, ‘Very w^’’ said the journalist, and his head
disappeared.
Let us descend,’ said Ilam, savagely pleased.
And he waved the descent flag.
• ‘We shan,t descend just yet,’ the journalist
informed them, popping up his head again.
‘ And pray, why not ?’
‘ Because I’ve cut the rope.’
Carpentaria, always calm when
art was not
INTERVIEWED 21
concerned, tore a fragment of paper from an
envelope in his pocket and threw it out of the
car. It sank away rapidly from the balloon.
Moreover, it was evident, even to the eye, that
their distance from the earth was vastly in¬
creasing.
‘ I withdraw my promise now this moment,’
said the journalist, climbing carefully into the
car. ‘ Everything that you say henceforward
will be printed. We shall have quite an exciting
trip. We may even get to France. Anyhow, I
shall have a clinking column for Monday’s Herald.
You evidently hadn’t quite appreciated what the
new journalism is.’
Then there was silence in the mounting
balloon.
Ilam bent his malevolent eyes longingly upon
the disappearing scene below. The glory of the
sunshine was nothing to him. He wanted to be
in the advertisement department, arranging future
contracts for spaces on the programmes. He
reflected that it was another of the mad caprices
of Carpentaria that had got him into this grotesque
scrape. And he was so angry that he forgot even
to think of the danger to which he was exposed.
‘ So here we are!’ said the journalist. * And
you can’t do anything !’
CHAPTER III
INSPIRATION
‘ Permit me to say, Mr. Smithers,’ Carpentaria

remarked at last, ‘ that your knavery is futile.
The resources of civilization are not yet ex¬
hausted. We are, in fact, already descending.’
He held tightly in his hand the end of a rope,
which reached up high above them and was lost
in the mass of cordage. He had opened the
valve to its widest.
‘ Don’t venture to move,’ he added, ‘ or Mr.
Ilam will break your head for you. This affair
will cost us nothing but a few thousand cubic
feet of gas at half-a-crown a thousand. What it
will cost you, I shall have to consider.’
And without saying anything further for the
moment, he unloosed a very thin cable that was
wound round a windlass in the car itself, and,
tying a white flag at the end of it, he began to
lower it rapidly over the edge of the car.
Thanks to the perfect calm which reigned, the
balloon was still well over the Amusements Park
22
INSPIRATION 23
Soon the voyagers could perceive the excited

movements of the crowds below, and then the
white flag touched earth, and was seized by the
eager hands of the balloonists, and slowly the
balloon, in a condition bordering on collapse,
subsided to the ground with the gentleness of a
fatigued British workman falling asleep. And
great cheers, for the second time that day, filled
the air.
‘You might have been sure,’ said Carpentaria,
when they were ten feet off safety, ‘ that in a show
like this due precautions would be taken against
accidents and idiots !’
Smithers, nearly as limp as the balloon, made
no reply. Josephus I lam glared over him.
‘ It’s nothing, it’s nothing !’ cried Carpentaria to
the staff, who besieged the party with questions.
‘ Fill her up as quick as you can, attach the rope,
and get ready for your public. Don’t bother
me !’
And he leapt out of the car and was running,
literally running, away, when I lam called out:
‘Hi! wait a minute. What’s to be done with
this maniac here ?’ And Ilam muttered to him¬
self, ‘ Why does he run away like that ? What’s
his next caprice going to be ?’
‘ I was forgetting,’ said Carpentaria, stopping.
‘ Young man ’—and he addressed Smithers
severely—‘ follow me, and no nonsense !’
Smithers obediently followed, pushing after

Carpentaria through the curious crowds. They
came at length to the Central Way, and Car¬
pentaria halted and took Smithers by the coat
collar.
‘ Listen !’ said he. ‘ Were much too busy to
trouble with police-court proceedings. And,
besides, there’s your brace of penniless aunts.
Cut! Clear out! Hook it! I rather admire
you. See ?’
Smithers saw, and vanished.
Carpentaria hastened on, rushing across the
Central Way, scarcely avoiding cable-cars, and
so, by a private passage between two shops, into
the Oriental Gardens. Now, just within the
Oriental Gardens, on either side of the grand
entrance to them, were two spacious houses, built
in the bungalow style, with enclosed gardens of
their own. One of these was occupied by
Josephus Ilam and his mother, and the other by
Carpentaria and his half-sister, Juliette D’Avray.
Between the house of Ilam and the back of the
shops in Central Way was one of those small
waste trifles of ground which often get left in
planning a vast exhibition or show. It was
skilfully hidden from the view of the public by
wooden palisades, and in this palisading was a
door, painted so as to escape detection. The plot
of ground, about three yards by two, was already
INSPIRATION 25
being utilized for lumber. Carpentaria entered
by the door and shut it after him. A man—a
middle-aged man, in a blue suit of rather shabby
appearance—was seated on some planks. He
started up, and then seemed to sway.
‘ What are you doing here ?’ Carpentaria curtly
demanded.
‘ Look ’ere,’ said the man, swaying towards
Carpentaria, ‘ I’m aw ri’—you’re aw ri’—eh ? I’m
a gemman. Come here to res’—rest. You leave
me ’lone—I leave you ’lone. Stop, I give you
my car’.’
The man was obviously inebriated, and Car¬
pentaria was in no mood to spend precious
minutes in diplomacy with a victim of Bacchus.
He departed, shutting the door, and leaving the
victim fumbling with a card-case. He meant to
send some one to eject the man, but he forgot.
‘ Say !’ cried the drunkard after him, ‘ how ju
know I wazz ’ere ? Mus’ been up in a b’loon—I
repea’—b’loon.’
In another moment Carpentaria was in the
study of his bungalow, panting.
‘ Quick !’ he said to Juliette, an extremely natty
little woman of thirty or so.
He sank into the chair before his desk. Juliette
placed some music-paper in front of him and put a
pen in his hand, and he scrawled across the top
of the page ‘ The Balloon Lullaby,’ and began to
scribble notes—quavers, crotchets, semibreves, and

some other strange wonders—all over the page.
‘ It came to me all of a sudden,’ he murmured,
‘ while we were up in the balloon.’
‘ Don’t talk, dear,’ said Juliette. ‘ Write.’
And he wrote.
When it was finished Carpentaria wiped his
brow and drank a whisky and milk which
Juliette had prepared for him. He sighed with
content and exhaustion. The creative crisis was
over.
‘ Play it,’ he ejaculated.
And Juliette sat down at the piano near the
window overlooking the magnificent gardens, and
played softly the two hundred and forty-seventh
opus of Carpentaria.
‘ It is lovely,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘It’s a classy little thing.
Came to me just like that!’ He snapped his
fingers.
‘ Your best ones always do,’ Juliette smiled.
‘ I’ll have that performed this very night,’ he
stated.
CHAPTER IV
MRS. I LAM
Somewhat later on the same afternoon, in the

drawing-room of the house opposite, Josephus
Ilam was drinking tea with his mother. The
aged Mrs. Ilam, who was very thin and not in
the least tall—her son would have made a dozen
of her—sat tremendously upright in her chair,
while Josephus lolled his great bulk in angry
attitudes on a sofa, near which the tea-table had
been placed. Mrs. Ilam wore widow’s weeds,
though it was many years since she had lost her
husband, a man who had made a vast fortune out
of soda-water—in the days when soda-water was
soda-water. She had a narrow, hard face, with
intensely black eyes, and intensely white hair,
and when she directed those eyes upon her son, it
became instantly plain that her son was at once her
idol and her slave. She lived solely for this man
of fifty, who had scarcely ever left her side. For
her this mass of fifteen stone four was still a young
child, needing watchful care and constant advice.
27
Certainly she spoilt him ; but, just as certainly, he

went in awe of her. The fact that by judicious
investments in hotel and public-house property
he had more than doubled the fortune which his
father left, did not at all improve his standing with
the antique dame ; it only made him in her view
a clever boy with financial leanings. Moreover,
every penny of the I lam fortune was legally hers
during her lifetime. Even Ilam’s share in the
City of Pleasure was hers. When Carpentaria
had discovered him, he had had to decide whether
or not he should put more than a million pounds
into the enterprise, and it was his mother who
decided, who listened to everything, and then
briefly told him that he would be a fool to leave
the thing alone.
‘Well,’ she said, in her high quavering voice,
as she passed him a cup of tea—the cup rattled
on the saucer in her blue-veined parchment hand—
‘ so you are not getting on with Carpentaria ? I
was afraid you wouldn’t.’
‘ He won’t listen to reason about the advertise¬
ments,’ said I lam crossly, stirring his tea.
‘No?’
‘And he’s absolutely mad about his music.
He’s spent ten hours in rehearsing this last two
days. All the work, I’ve had to do myself.’
‘ Indeed !’
‘ And then, to crown his exploits, he takes me
MRS. I LAM 29
up in the balloon, mother — wastes a solid

hour.’
‘ In the balloon !’
Ilam recounted the incident of the balloon.
‘ And, after all, he lets that impudent journalist
go free—absolutely free !’
‘Jos,’ said his mother, ‘it’s a wonder you’re
alive, my dear.’
‘ It’s a pity Carpentaria’s alive,’ rejoined Ilam.
His mother’s burning eyes met his.
‘ That’s just what I’ve been thinking,’ she
piped calmly.
Her son’s gaze dropped.
‘ Since when ?’
‘ Since you began grumbling about him, last
week but one, my pet.’
‘He’s no use now,’ Ilam grumbled. ‘We’ve
carried out all his ideas, and it’s simply a matter
of business, and Carpentaria doesn’t know the
meaning of the word “business.” Just think of
his argument about those ads. !’
‘ Never mind that, Jos,’ Mrs. Ilam put in.
‘ He’s only in the way now,’ Jos proceeded
gloomily.
‘ I suppose he wouldn’t retire,’ Mrs. Ilam
suggested.
‘ Retire ? Of course he wouldn’t retire—
nothing would induce him to retire. He enjoys
it—he enjoys annoying me.’
3o THE CITY OF PLEASURE
‘ Anyway,’ said the mother, ‘ you 11 have the

satisfaction of a very great success.’
She looked out of the window at the gardens.
‘Yes,’ growled Ilam. ‘And he gets half the
profits. I’ve found all the money, and he
hasn’t found a cent. But he gets half the profits.
What for? A few ideas—nothing else. He
pretends to direct, but he’ll direct nothing except
his blessed band. And I reckon we shall clear
a profit of ten thousand a week! Half of ten is
five.’
‘ He only gets half the profits as long as he
lives, Jos,’ said Mrs. Ilam. ‘ After that—nothing.’
‘ Nothing,’ agreed Jos, biting cruelly into a hot
scone. ‘ But as long as he lives he’s costing me,
say, five thousand a week, besides worry.’
‘ He mayn’t live long,’ Mrs. Ilam ventured.
‘ No, but he may live fifty years.’
‘Supposing he died very suddenly, Jos,’ Mrs.
Ilam pursued calmly ; ‘ he wouldn’t be the first
person that was inconvenient to you who had
disappeared unexpectedly.’
‘ Mother!’ Ilam almost shouted, starting up.
‘ But would he ?’ Mrs. Ilam persisted.
‘No, he wouldn’t,’ muttered Josephus, and his
voice trembled.
Mrs. Ilam blew out the spirit-lamp under
the kettle as though she was blowing out Carpen¬
taria.
MRS. I LAM 31
* I’m off,’ said Josephus nervously.

‘Wait a moment, child. Ring the bell for me.’
A servant entered.
‘ Bring me your master’s knitted waistcoat,’ said
Mrs. I lam.
‘ But, mother, I shan’t want it.’
‘Yes, you will, Jos. There’s no month more
treacherous than May. You’ll put it on to
please me.’
He obeyed, bent down to kiss his terrible
parent, and departed.
‘ Think it over,’ she called out after him.
I lam stopped.
* And then, what about his sister ?’ he said.
‘ Don’t mix up two quite separate things,’
Mrs. I lam responded. ‘ Besides, she isn’t his
sister.’
CHAPTER V
THE BAND
That night the City of Pleasure was illuminated.

Eighty thousand tiny electric lamps hanging in fes¬
toons from standard to standard lighted the Central
Way alone ; the fagades of all the places of amuse¬
ment were outlined in fire ; the shops glittered ;
and the cable-cars, as they flashed to and fro,
bore the monogram I.C. in electricity on their
foreheads. At eight o’clock the thoroughfare was
crowded with visitors, and the stream of arrivals
was stronger than ever. In the superb restaurants,
at all prices (no matter what the price, they were
equally superb in decoration), five thousand diners
were finishing five thousand dinners, their eyes
undisturbed by the presence of advertisements on
the walls. The theatre, the music-hall, the circus,
the menagerie, the concerts, and the rest of the
entertainments, were filling up. In the Amuse¬
ments Park people shot down railways into water,
slid down smooth slopes into mattresses, circled in
great wheels, floated in the latest novelties of
32
THE BAND 33
merry-go-rounds, ascended in the balloon, and

practised all the other devices for frittering away
eternity, just as though night had not fallen. In
the vast court of the Exposition Palace a band
was swelling the strains of the newest waltzes to
three storeys of loungers and sitters at cafe-tables,
while within the interior of the building men and
women wandered about examining the multifarious
attractions of the Woman’s Exhibition.
But the chief joy was the Oriental Gardens,
wherein a multitude of over fifty thousand persons
had gathered together. The Oriental Gardens
were illuminated, but in a different manner from
the Central Way. Chinese lanterns were sus¬
pended everywhere in the budding trees, giving
the illusion of magic precocious flowers that had
blossomed there in a single hour, in all the tints of
the rainbow and many others entirely foreign to
the rainbow. The bandstand alone was picked
out in electricity. It blazed in the centre of the
gardens like a giant’s crown, and, although yet
empty, it formed the main object of attention.
Overhead stretched a dark-blue sky, silvered with
stars, and the wind had a warm and caressing
quality which encouraged sightseers to expose
themselves to it to such an extent that the fifteen
cafes of the Oriental Gardens, some sheltered,
some quite open, but each a centre of light and
laughter, were every one crowded with guests.
3
The four thousand chairs surrounding the band¬

stand were occupied, and also the six thousand
other chairs dispersed in various parts of the
gardens. The murmur of conversation, the rustle
of dresses, the tinkle of glasses, the rumour of un¬
countable footsteps, rose on the air. The faces of
pretty women could be observed obscurely in the
delicious gloom, and the glowing scarlet of cigars
bobbed mysteriously about like a species of rest¬
less glow-worm.
And everybody was conscious of the sensation
of the extraordinary and amazing success of the
great show. The evening papers had carried the
news of the wonderful thing to each suburb of
London. These papers gave from hour to hour
the number of the persons who had passed the
turnstiles, and calculated the number of tons of
shillings that I lam and Carpentaria would have to
bank on Monday morning. But the principal
thing that struck the evening papers was the com¬
plete readiness of the City of Pleasure. No detail
of it was unfinished, and all agreed that this
phenomenon stood unique in the history of the
art of amusing immense crowds. All felt that a
new era of amusement enterprise had been ushered
in by I lam and Carpentaria, that everything was
changed, and that in the future an enlightened and
excessively exacting public would not be satisfied
with what had pleased it in the past. And the
THE BAND 35
owners of old-fashioned resorts trembled in their

shoes, and hated I lam and Carpentaria, while the
myriad patrons of Ilam and Carpentaria on that
first day flattered themselves that they had per¬
sonally assisted at the birth of the grand innova¬
tion, and thought how they would say to their
grandchildren : ‘ Yes, I was present at the open¬
ing of the City of Pleasure, and a marvellous
affair it was,’ and so on, in the manner of grand¬
parents.
All were expecting Carpentaria, the lion of the
show.
His band was due to perform from eight o’clock
to ten, and special bills, posted on the sides of the
gilded bandstand and in the cafes, announced :
‘ Carpentaria’s band will play the Balloon Lullaby,
the latest composition of Carpentaria, composed
this afternoon.’
At ten minutes before eight the members of
the band, sixty in number, and clad in the imperial
purple uniform, marched in Indian file across the
gardens to the stand. At a distance of ten paces
from the end of the procession came Carpentaria,
preceded by a small page bearing his baton on a
cushion of purple velvet. Carpentaria always did
things with overwhelming style and solemnity.
Superior persons laughed at the style and
solemnity, but the vast majority did not laugh ;
they cheered ; they appreciated. Whether they
3—2
were right or wrong, the indubitable fact is that

these things came naturally to Carpentaria; they
were the expression of his exceedingly theatrical
soul, the devices of a man who believes in him¬
self.
At eight o’clock precisely Carpentaria faced the
fifty thousand from his bandstand, and, after having
bowed elaborately thrice, turned to the band, and
lifted the sacred stick.
It was a dramatic moment, the real inauguration
of the City of Pleasure.
Cheers and hurrahs rolled in terrific volumes
of sound across the gardens, and they did not
cease; and people not acquainted with the fame
and renown of Carpentaria perceived what it was
to be a favourite of capitals, a leading star in
the galaxy of stars that the public salutes and
recognizes.
Carpentaria preserved the immobility of carven
stone until the plaudits had ceased ; they lasted
for exactly five and a half minutes. Consequently
the concert was exactly five and a half minutes
late in commencing. Carpentaria himself was
never late, but his public had a habit of delaying
him.
Suddenly he brought down his baton with a
surprising shock. The carven stone had started
into life, and ‘ God save the King5 was under
way.
THE BAND 37
Now to see Carpentaria conduct was one of

the sights of the world. He conducted not
merely with his hand and eye, but with the
whole of his immortal frame and his uniform. It
was said that he was capable of conducting the
Eroica Symphony of Beethoven with his left
foot—and who shall deny it ? ‘ God save the
King’ was child’s play to him. Moreover, he
showed a certain reserve in handling it. He
merely conducted it as though in conducting it he
himself were literally saving the King. That
was all. But with what snap, what dash, what
chic, what splash and what magnificent presence
of mind did he save the King ! The applause
was wild and ample.
The next item was ‘ The City of Pleasure
March,’ composed by Carpentaria. Indeed,
Carpentaria conducted nothing but national
hymns, his own compositions, and, as a superla¬
tive concession, Wagner and Beethoven. ‘ The
City of Pleasure ’ was in Carpentaria’s finest
style, and it was planned to give him the fullest
scope in conducting it. He had already made it
famous in a triumphal tour through the United
States in the previous year. It began with the
utmost possible volume of sound. It had a
contagious and infectious lilt to it, and both the
lilt and the volume of sound were continued
without the slightest respite during the whole
composition. In the course of this masterpiece

Carpentaria performed physical feats that would
have astounded Cinquevalli and the Schaffer
Troupe. In the frenzy of self-expression he all
but stood on his head. The bandstand was too
small for him ; he needed a planet on which to
circulate. By turns his baton was a sceptre, a
pump-handle, a maypole, a crutch, a drumstick,
a flag, a toothpick, a mop, a pendulum, a whip, a
bottle of soothing-syrup, and a scorpion. By
turns he whipped, tortured, encouraged, liberated,
imprisoned, mopped up, measured, governed,
diverted, pushed over, pulled back, and turned
inside out his band, and whenever their enthu¬
siasm seemed likely to lead them into indiscre¬
tions, he soothed them with the soothing-syrup.
By turns the conducting of the piece was a march,
a campaign, a house on fire, the race for the
Derby, the forging of a hundred-ton gun, a
display of fireworks, a mayoral banquet, and a
mother scolding a numerous family.
It was colossal.
At the close, as sudden as the shutting of a
door, there was a vast strange silence, and then
the applause, as colossal as the piece, broke out
like a conflagration.
Carpentaria bowed ; the entire band bowed ;
Carpentaria bowed again. Lastly he indicated a
flute-player with his baton, and the flute-player
THE BAND 39
came forward and shared the glory of Carpentaria.

Why a flute-player, no one could have guessed.
Forty flutes could not have been heard in that
terrific concourse of brass and drums. But
Carpentaria was Carpentaria.
‘ Did any of you hear the sound of a shot ?’
Carpentaria said in a low voice to his band.
‘Shot ? No, sir. No, sir,’ came from a dozen
mouths. ‘ Why, sir ?’
c Because a bullet has just grazed my ear. It
was in the fourth bar from the end.’ He put his
hand to his ear and showed blood on his finger.
‘ It’s nothing, nothing,’ he quietened them. ‘ I
shall expect you to behave as though nothing
had occurred, as soldiers in fact.’
‘ Certainly, sir,’ replied the intrepid band.
Carpentaria gazed at one of the iron supports
of the roof of the bandstand. In a line with his
head the surface of the pillar had been damaged
and dented. He disturbed two trombone-players
in order to search the floor, and in a few seconds
he had found a flattened bullet, which he put in
his pocket.
‘ Number two,’ he said sharply, going to his
desk and tapping it.
Number two was the lullaby. No more striking
contrast to the march could have been found. It
was so delicate, so softly stealing, that you could
scarcely hear it; and yet you could hear it—you
could hear it everywhere. Carpentaria drew

sweetness out of his band with the gestures of a
conjurer drawing an interminable roll of coloured
paper from his mouth, previously shown to be
empty. It was the daintiest thing, swaying in
the air like gossamer. It brought tears to the
orbs of mothers, and made strong men close their
eyes. Such was the versatility of Carpentaria.
The applause amounted to a furore.
‘ I give you my word of honour, ladies and
gentlemen,’ said Carpentaria, coming to the rail
of the stand and stilling the cheers with a gesture,
‘ at half-past three this afternoon not a note of the
little piece was composed.’
His demeanour gave no sign of agitation. But
at the close of the concert, no more bullets having
arrived, he wiped his brow with relief. Most of
the band did the same.
He walked about on the river terrace for over
an hour, calming his spirit, which had been
through so many excitements, artistic and other¬
wise, during the afternoon and evening. And he
meditated, now on the bullet, and now on Ilam.
He could scarcely realize how nearly he had
escaped quarrelling with Ilam in the balloon ;
their relations hitherto had been invariably
amicable, at any rate on the surface; and he
had done so much for Ilam ; he had put a
second fortune in Ilam’s pocket. The dazzling
THE BAND 4i
success of the day of inauguration was the
success of Carpentaria’s ideas. And yet I lam
hated him. He felt that Ilam hated him. He
almost shuddered as he remembered the moment
when he had sat on the dizzy edge of the balloon-
car, and Ilam had threatened him, and then
laughed.
The Oriental Gardens were empty and dark.
The gay crowd had departed; the lights were
extinguished. Only the light in Ilam’s drawing¬
room shone across the expanse as it had shone
through all the evening. Carpentaria’s own
bungalow was dark. He wondered what Juliette
was doing.
At length he set off home through the gardens.
And just as he was entering his front-door he
recollected that he had given no instructions
about the drunken man in the enclosure. He
turned back down the steps, and went into the
enclosure and struck a match. The man was
lying on the ground, no doubt asleep.
‘ Well, this is a caution!’ he muttered.
A notion occurred to him, one of his fanciful
pranks. He picked up the unconscious man,
who held himself stiff and did not even groan,
and carried him, not with too much difficulty—
for Carpentaria was extremely powerful—to the
side-door of Ilam’s residence ; he placed the form
against the door. Every night for weeks past
I lam had come out by that door about midnight

to take a final stroll of inspection. He felt that
he owed Ilam a grudge. Then he retired into
the shadow and waited.
Presently the door opened, and Ilam fell over
the man, as Carpentaria hoped he would, and
picked himself up with oaths and struck a match
and gazed at the form.
At the same instant a woman’s figure passed
Carpentaria in the dark. He was surprised to
recognize Juliette. He touched her.
‘ Oh !’ she cried softly, starting back.
‘ Why do you start like that ?’ he demanded.
‘ You—you—frightened me,’ she said.
He escorted her into their house. When he
came out again Ilam was descending the steps
by the side door. Nothing lay near the door.
‘ Seen anything of a drunken man ?’ Carpentaria
called out.
‘No,’ said Ilam, after a pause.
‘ Not near your door ?’
‘ No. Why ?’
‘ Oh, nothing. Only I thought I saw one.’
‘Good night,’ growled Ilam, but instead oi
taking the air he returned abruptly to the house.
CHAPTER VI
THE BLACK BURDEN
‘ Curious !’ Carpentaria meditated as he retired

to his abode. ‘ Having fallen over a man lying
drunk on his steps, why should my friend and
partner, Mr. Josephus Ilam, totally deny that he
has seen a drunken man ? With my own eyes I
saw him tumble. Now this mishap must have
made Mr. Josephus Ilam angry, because he is just
the sort of person who does get angry upon the
provocation of a pure accident. Yet, so far as I
could judge in the gloom, there was no trace of
anger in his demeanour when he answered my
question. On the contrary, he appeared to be
rather subdued.
‘And further—what has become of my friend
the drunken man ? The drunken man must exist
somewhere. Is he in Ilam’s house ? And, if so,
why is he in Ilam’s house? Neither Josephus
nor his mother is precisely a type of the Good
Samaritan. And if he is not in Ilam’s house, has
he suddenly recovered and walked awray on his
43
legs unaided? Impossible! I was once drunk,

and I say, impossible. Then, has Josephus
carried him somewhere ? And where has he
carried him, and why ?’
Carpentaria unlocked his front-door and entered
the hall of his dwelling, and then locked and
bolted the door. He was not in the habit of
either locking or bolting his front-door; the idea
of so securing a house which stood in the middle
of half a square mile of private property, well
guarded at all its gates, seemed ridiculous.
Nevertheless he did it, and he could have given
no reason for doing it. He imagined that he
heard footsteps in the passage leading from the
hall to the kitchen, and he quickly turned on the
electric light and looked down the passage. But
there was nothing. He decided that he was very
nervous and impressionable that night. The
servants had, doubtless, long since gone to bed.
He extinguished the light and made his way
upstairs to his study, and sat down in his chair—
the famous chair in which he composed his
famous melodies. The faint illumination of the
May night made the principal objects in the room
vaguely visible. He could discern the pale
square of the framed autograph letter from
President McKinley which hung on the opposite
wall. He tried to collect his ideas and think in a
logical sequence.
THE BLACK BURDEN 45
Then, again, he fancied that he heard footsteps,
and that he saw a dim form near the door.
‘ Who’s that ?’ he cried sharply.
‘ It’s only me/ answered a woman’s voice, and
the electricity was at the same instant switched
on.
Juliette stood there.
‘ Why are you sitting in the dark, Carlos ?’ she
demanded.
Carlos was her pet name for him.
‘ I don’t know,’ he said lamely.
‘ My poor dear,’ she smiled, approaching him.
* I haven’t said good-night to you,’
She put her long and elegant hands on his
shoulders, as was her wont each evening, and
kissed him on both cheeks in her French fashion.
The affection between Carlos and his half-French
half-sister was real and profound. He liked her
for her Parisian daintiness, and for the eminently
practical qualities which she possessed in common
with most Frenchwomen, and also because she
regarded him as a genius. To-night he thought
she was sweeter and more sisterly than ever.
‘ Good-night,’ she said, and her voice trembled,
and a slight humidity glistened in her eyes.
- ‘ Good-night,’ he responded.
And she tripped off, swinging the perfect skirt
of her black mousseline dress round the edge of
the door.
< She’s mightily excited to-night,’ he murmured

to himself; and he reflected, as all men reflect
from time to time, that women are strange and in¬
comprehensible, a device invented by Providence
to keep the wit of man well sharpened by constant
employment.
He passed into his bedroom, and went out on to
the wooden balcony of the bedroom, which com¬
manded a view of Ilam’s side-door. A light
showed through the glass above the door, and
Carpentaria noticed at length that the door was
slightly ajar. He stepped back into the bedroom,
extinguished all his own lights, and returned to
the balcony to watch. He determined to watch
as long as Ilam’s door remained ajar. He sat
down in a cane chair provided for repose on the
balcony, and his one regret was that the glow of a
cigarette or a cigar would betray him.
He grew calmer. The frenzy into which music
always threw him had quite worn itself away. He
was able to think clearly. He did not, however,
think so much upon the incident of the drunken
man as upon the incident of the bullet ; and this
was perhaps natural. He was astounded now
that he could have remained in the bandstand, so
utterly careless of danger, after the arrival of the
bullet. He was astounded, too, at the sang-froid
of his musicians. But, then, their ears had not
been grazed, and his had. He saw that he was
THE BLACK BURDEN 47
at the mercy of any homicidal maniac who, on a
dark night, with a good rifle and a sure aim, chose
to secrete himself in some deserted alley of the
vast Oriental Gardens, and shoot at him during
a loud burst of music. And he said : ‘ Well, if I
am to die, I am to die, and there’s an end of it.
Assuming that a given man A has really deter¬
mined to kill another given man B, and A is
obstinate, nothing will ultimately save B. I am
B. Hence I must be philosophical.’
But who was A ?
He thought of all the enemies he had made,
all the rivals he had defeated, but the process of
their enumeration was perfunctory. For out of
the depths of his mind rose persistently one name,
again, and again, and again, and yet again, like a
succession of bubbles, all alike, rising to the
surface of a pond and breaking there. And that
name was the name of Ilam. He forbade the
name to rise, but it rose. With the simplicity
which marked some of his mental processes, he
could not understand why Ilam should hate him
murderously. But the episode of the balloon had
magically and terribly cast a new and searching
light on the recesses of Ilam’s character. He
felt that hitherto he had been mistaken in Ilam,
and that Ilam was not a person with whom it was
wise to have interests in common. And the
unknown designs of Ilam seemed to surround him
in the night like the web of a gigantic spider, and

to bind him tighter and tighter.
Then his reflections were interrupted by a
sound somewhere below the balcony.
It was the sound of his own side-door being very
cautiously opened. He could hear it perfectly
clearly in the still night; but whether the door was
being opened from the outside or the inside he
could not tell. He remembered that, though he had
bolted and locked the front-door, he had utterly for¬
gotten the side-door. He leaned over the balcony
as far as he dared, but even so he could catch no
glimpse of anything in the obscurity beneath.
And then there were steps on the gravel, and
he saw a white blur moving on the top of a dark
mass. In another moment he perceived that
the apparition was Juliette, with a white shawl
wrapped round her head. What was she doing
there, and why had she opened the door so
cautiously ? Had she some secret? He decided
to watch her; She moved to the middle of the
avenue between the two houses and hesitated.
And then the great clock in the tower of the
Exposition Palace tolled the hour of twelve
solemnly, as it were warningly, over the immense
extent of the sleeping City of Pleasure.
The appeal of the clock seemed to Carpentaria
to be almost dramatic. He felt strongly that he
could not spy upon Juliette, that he could not be
THE BLACK BURDEN 49
disloyal to this affectionate companion of his life,
and honourably he called out to her :
‘ Juliette, what are you doing ?’
His own voice startled him. It was so clear
and penetrative in the gloom.
There was a slight pause. Then .Juliette re¬
plied :
* Carlos, you seem bent on frightening me to¬
night. I thought you were in bed and asleep.
You’ll take cold on that balcony. I only came
out to get a little air.’
The notion struck him that her head was turned
directly to Ilam’s house, and yet she made no
comment on the light there and the door ajar.
‘ Go in, there’s a good girl,’ said Carpentaria.
* It’s you who’ll be taking cold.’
‘ I’m going in,’ she answered.
And she went in.
He had yet another alarm. Something moved
on the balcony itself, near a row of flower-pots.
Then he felt a pressure against his leg.
‘ Ah, Beppo!’ he whispered, suddenly relieved,
smiling at his nervous timidity. A great Angora
cat leaped on to his knees, and began clawing at
the superb pile of his purple trousers. He stroked
the animal, and Beppo purred with a volume of
sound equal to that of many sawmills. ‘ Don’t
purr so loud, Bep,’ he advised the cat; but the
cat, under the impression that it was the centre
4
of importance in the best of all possible worlds,

purred with undiminished vigour.
Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour
passed so, and then Carpentaria heard heavy-
footsteps in the avenue from the direction of the
Central W^y. He jumped up, shattering the
illusions of Beppo, and listened intently. A man
presently appeared, walking slowly. He wondered
who it could be; but when the figure paused at
Ilam’s steps, mounted them, and pushed open the
unlatched door, he saw that it was I lam himself,
and that I lam was holding in his arms a bundle
of what looked like black cloth. The vision of
him was but transient, for I lam closed the door
at once. Ilam, then, must have left his house
before Carpentaria had come on to the balcony.
The watcher on the balcony felt his heart beating
rapidly. His calm had vanished. The frenzy of
the music, the perturbation caused by the bullet,
had passed, only to give way to another and per¬
haps a more dreadful excitation. What could
these secret journeys of Ilam portend ? He
clutched fiercely the rail of the balcony in his
apprehensive anxiety.
After a time—not a very long time—the door
opened again, and for at least five seconds Jose¬
phus Ilam stood plainly silhouetted against a light
within the house, and over his shoulders, which
were bent, he carried an enormous limp burden,
THE BLACK BURDEN 5i
draped in black. He looked back into the house
once, then turned awkwardly, because of his
burden, to shut the door behind him, and with
excessive deliberation descended the steps and
came out into the avenue. The figure and its
burden were now nothing but a shape in the
gloom.
Carpentaria decided in the fraction of a second
what he would do. He slipped into his bedroom,
took off his boots, put on a pair of felt slippers,
scurried downstairs, opened the side-door, and
gently slipped out. Ilam, tramping slowly with
clumsy footsteps, had reached the arch leading to
the Central Way.
CHAPTER VII
THE CAT
Carpentaria dogged him with all the precautions

of silence as he turned to the right down the
Central Way. The great thoroughfare of the
City of Pleasure was, of course, absolutely de¬
serted. Its fountains were stilled; its pretty
cable-cars had disappeared ; its flags had been
hauled down. The meagre trees rustled chilly in
the night-wind. Its vast and floriated white
architecture seemed under the sombre sky to be
the architecture of a dream. The one sign of
human things was the illuminated face of the
clock over the Exposition Palace, which showed
twenty-five minutes past twelve. Of the two
thousand souls employed in the City, more than
half had gone to their homes in the other city,
London, and several hundreds slept in the
dormitories that had been built for them at the
southern extremity of the Central Way. The
remaining hundred or so were dispersed in various
parts of the City, either watching or asleep. Some
52
THE CAT 53
had the right to sleep at their posts. But the men
of the highly-organized fire service would be awake
and alert.
Yet there happened to be no living creature on
the Way, except its two chiefs. I lam crossed the
Way, and turned off it through an avenue that
lay between the lecture hall and the menagerie.
Carpentaria followed at a safe distance, hiding in
the thick shadows as he went. From the interior
of the menagerie came the subdued growls and
groans of the wild beasts therein, suffering from
insomnia, and longing for the jungle. Among
the treasures of the menagerie was a society of
twenty-seven lions, who went through a perform¬
ance twice a day under their trainer, Brant, the
king of lion-tamers, as he was called on the City
of Pleasure programmes, and as he, in fact, was.
There were also a celebrated sanguinary tiger, that
had killed three men in New York, and various
other delicate attractions. The nocturnal noises
of these fearsome animals were sufficiently ap¬
palling. And when Ilam stopped before a little
door in the south fagade of the menagerie build¬
ing, a cold perspiration froze the forehead and the
spirit of Carpentaria. Was the man going to
yield his mysterious black-enveloped burden to
the lions and the tigers, the jackals and the
hyenas, of that inestimable collection of African
and Asiatic fauna ?
But I lam struggled onwards. And next they

passed the electricity works, which was in full
activity, for the manufacture of light went on
night and day in the City of Pleasure. Ilam
slunk along the front of the workshops, increasing
his pace. Fortunately for him, the windows were
seven feet from the ground, so that he could not
be observed from within. The whirr of the
wheels revolving incessantly in front of gigantic
magnets filled the air, and from the high windows
shone a steely-blue radiance, chequered by the
flying shadows of machinery.
Ilam turned again, and entered the Amusements
Park, and, threading his way among chutes, switch-
backs, slides, and ponds, he crossed it from end to
end.
‘ Where is he going ?’ Carpentaria muttered.
And then, suddenly, it occurred to Carpentaria
where Ilam was going.
Behind the Amusements Park, and abutting on
the confines of the City territory, was a large
waste piece of ground which had been used for
excavations and for refuse. In the tremendous
operation of levelling the site of the City, digging
foundations, and gardening in the landscape
manner, much earth had been needed in one
spot, and much earth had had to be removed
in another. The waste piece of ground was the
clearing-house of this business, in certain parts
it was humped like a camel’s back, and in others
THE CAT 55
it was hollowed into pits. Immense quantities of
soil lay loose, and there were, besides, barrows
and spades in abundance.
Arrived in the midst of this sterile wilderness,
Ilam unceremoniously dropped his burden near a
miniature mountain, which raised itself by the
side of a miniature pit. He then found a spade,
and, having tested the looseness of the soil, took
up the black mystery and slipped it carefully into
the pit. Then he climbed with the spade on to
the summit of the hillock, and began to push the
soil from the hillock into the pit. It proved to be
the simplest thing in the world. In five minutes
the burden of Ilam lay under several feet of soil.
Carpentaria, favoured by the nature of the spot,
had crept closer.
‘ Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust!’
he heard Ilam reciting. Amazing phenomenon!
But nothing can be more amazing than the be¬
haviour of an utterly respectable man when he is
committing a crime!
The affair finished, Ilam departed, passing
within a few feet of Carpentaria, who stretched
himself flat on the ground to avoid detection.
And when Ilam had vanished out of sight,
Carpentaria jumped up feverishly, seized the
spade, leapt into the pit and began to dig—to
dig with a fury of haste. Fate helped him, for
the black mass was uncovered in less time than
had been taken to cover it. He dragged it slowly

out of the pit, and slowly, almost reluctantly, un¬
wrapped it. He had been sure at the first touch
that it was the body of a man, and he was not
mistaken. In the gloomy night he could see the
white patches made by the face and the hands.
The body was not yet stiff. He hesitated, and
then struck a match. He hoped the wind would
blow it out, but the wind spared it; it flared
bravely, and lighted the face of the corpse, and the
corpse was that of the mysterious drunken man.
A thousand unanswerable questions fought to¬
gether for solution in Carpentaria’s brain.
He knew himself to be in the presence of a
crime, of a murder. His legal duty, therefore,
was to fetch justice in the shape of a policeman.
But he reflected that no battalion of policemen
and judges could undo the crime, bring the dead
to life, make innocent the guilty. He reflected
also upon the clumsiness of State justice, and the
inconveniences attaching to it, and upon the im¬
measurable harm its advent might do to the
opening season of the City of Pleasure. More¬
over, he had a horror of capital punishment, and
he was a bold and original man, though an artist.
He settled rapidly in his mind that he himself
would probe the matter to its root, and that the
justice involved should be the private justice of
Carpentaria, not the public justice of the realm.
THE CAT 57
And a few minutes later he had discovered
a long, flat barrow, and was wheeling away the
burden that had bent the back of Josephus Ilam.
He brought it circuitously and gently by way of
the Sports Fields round again to the Central
Way, and so to the neighbourhood of his own
house. The night had now grown darker than
ever, and a few drops of rain began to fall.
Suddenly, as he was approaching the two bun¬
galows, he stopped and listened. He thought he
heard footsteps ; but no sound met his ear, and he
raised the handles of the barrow again. By this
time he was midway between the bungalows and
about to turn to the side-entrance of his own.
Once more he stopped; he distinctly did hear
footsteps crushing the gravel.
* What is that ? Anyone there ?’ cried a
voice.
And it was Ilam’s voice, full of fear. Carpen¬
taria crept away to the shelter of his own wall,
leaving the barrow that had become a bier in the
midst of the path. Vaguely and dimly he saw
the form of Ilam coming down the avenue, saw
it stop uncertainly before the barrow, saw it bend
down, and then he heard a shriek—a shriek of
terror — loud, violent, and echoing, and Ilam
fled away. Carpentaria heard him mount the
steps of his house and fumble with the door, and
then he heard the bang of the door.
With all possible speed he rushed to the

barrow, wheeled it into his garden, and thence
to an outhouse, of which he carefully fastened the
padlock.
He stood some time hesitant in the avenue,
wondering whether any further singular pheno¬
menon would proceed from the Ilam house that
night. His curiosity was rewarded. A most
strange procession emerged presently from the
bungalow. First came old Mrs. Ilam, dressed in
a crimson dressing-gown, a white nightcap on
her head, and carrying a lamp with an elaborate
drawing-room shade. Carpentaria could see that
the lamp shook in her trembling hand. Her
hands always trembled, but her head never.
She came down the steps with the deliberation
of extreme old age, peering in front of her, and
she was followed, timorously, by her son. The
lamp threw a large circle of yellow light on the
ground, and at intervals Mrs. Ilam held it up
high so that it illuminated the faces of mother
and son. They came into the middle of the
avenue. It was now seriously raining.
I knew it wouldn t be there,’ Ilam whispered,
in an awed tone. ‘ It isn’t the sort of thing that
stays. But I saw it I saw the cloth and I saw
a bit of its face.’
Mrs. Ilam looked about her.
Nonsense, Jos, she upbraided him, fixing her
THE CAT 59
eyes on him in a sort of reproof. * It’s your

imagination.’
‘ It isn’t,’ said Josephus. ‘ I saw it; and what’s
more, it was on a bier. That’s the worst—it was
on a bier. Mother, he will haunt me all my
life !’
‘ Don’t talk so loud, child,’ put in Mrs. Ilam.
‘ You’d better go to bed.’
‘ What’s the good of going to bed ?’ he inquired.
‘ What! I took him and I buried him as safe as
houses. I left him there, and I came straight
back here, except that I was stopped by a watch¬
man at the stables, who told me the horses seemed
to be all frightened. And I had a talk to the
fellow ; and I find it on a bier here, right in my
path. And now it’s gone again.’
‘Come in,’ said Mrs. Ilam.
* And why were the horses frightened ? That
shows-’
‘Come in,’ Mrs. Ilam repeated. ‘ I’ll get you
some hot milk, and you must try to sleep.’
‘Sleep!’ he murmured. ‘Mother, you mustn’t
leave me.’
And the procession re-entered the house, and
the door was closed, but a light burned upstairs
through the remainder of the night.
Carpentaria himself had little sleep ; he scarcely
tried to sleep. He arose at seven o’clock, and
dressed and went out on to the balcony. The rain
had ceased, and the Sunday morning was ex¬

quisitely calm and sunny. The whole scene was
so bright and clear that the events of six hours
ago appeared fantastic and impossible. Yet Car¬
pentaria knew only too well that the unidentified
corpse lay in the outhouse. He meant first to
examine the corpse himself, and then to confide
in a certain official of the city whom he knew that
he could trust. What he should do after that he
could not imagine. Decidedly some process of
burial would be speedily imperative.
All the blinds of the Ilam bungalow were
drawn. He guessed that at least the upper ones
would remain so, and he was somewhat taken
aback when Mrs. Ilam herself appeared at a
window and opened it. He was still more taken
aback to see Mrs. Ilam a moment later open the
door, and with much stateliness cross the avenue
to his own dwelling. He knew that she was
friendly with Juliette, and that Juliette liked her.
He, too, had admired her, but only because she
was so old and so masterful, such a surprising-
relic. That she should be accessory to a crime
did not seem strange to him. He esteemed her
to be a woman capable of anything. He would
have to warn Juliette.
At eight o’clock a servant brought up the
French breakfast with which, under Juliette’s
influence, he compromised with hunger till lunch-
THE CAT 61
time ; and with the breakfast came, as usual, the

cat Beppo. The breakfast consisted of a two-
handled bowl of milk and a fresh roll and a pat of
butter. Beppo seemed determined to share the
breakfast without delay. Carpentaria, as was his
frequent practice, took the roll off its plate and
poured on the plate as much milk as it would
hold. And Beppo, to whom milk was the answer
to the riddle of the universe, leapt on to the table
and began to lap in his gluttonous masculine way.
He had taken exactly four laps when he ceased to
lap. He looked up at his master, and there was
a disturbed and pained expression in his amber
eyes. This expression changed in an instant to
one of positive fright. He was evidently breath¬
ing with difficulty, and he was rather at sea, for
he groped about on the table and put both his
forepaws into the bowl, splashing the milk in all
directions. He then gave a fearful shriek; his
pupils dilated horribly in spite of the strong sun¬
shine, and he went into convulsions. His breath
came quick and short. Finally, he fell off the
table.
He was dead.
Less than three minutes previously he had been
a cat full of power, of romance, and of the joy of
life, with comfortable views on most things.
CHAPTER VIII
DISAPPEARANCE OF JULIETTE
People may read about crimes in newspapers all

their lives, and yet never properly realize that
crime exists. To appreciate what crime is, one
must be brought to close quarters with crime, as
Carpentaria was. Twelve hours ago murder to
him had been nothing but a name. Now he
knew the horror that murder inspires. And with
the corpse of the cat Beppo lying at his feet, he
felt that horror far more keenly even than in the
night as he unearthed the corpse of the mysterious
drunken man. He had actually seen the cat
done to death, and, had it not been for the
greediness of Beppo, he himself would have lain
there, stretched out in eternal quiet.
He looked at the half-empty bowl of milk and
at the splashes of milk on the round painted table,
reflecting that each splash was no doubt sufficient
to kill a man.
He wondered what he must do, how he must
begin to disentangle himself from the coil of
62
DISAPPEARANCE OF JULIETTE 63
danger that was surrounding him. He was not

afraid. He was probably much too excited to be
afraid. He was angry, startled, grieved, and
puzzled, and nothing more. His mind turned
naturally to Juliette—Juliette, his comforter and
companion. He did not like the idea of frighten¬
ing her by a recital of what had occurred, but he
knew that he would be compelled to do so. He
must talk confidentially to some one who under¬
stood him and admired him. Now, at that hour
in the morning the faithful Juliette, her dress
ornamented by an extremely small and attractive
French apron, was in the habit of personally
dusting the writing-table in Carpentaria’s study
adjoining the bedroom. No profane hand ever
touched that table, and Juliette’s own hand never
ventured to arrange its sublime disorder. There
were three servants in the house—the parlour¬
maid, the cook, and a scullery-maid. There
might have been a dozen had Juliette so wished.
But Juliette was a simple person ; her father, the
second husband of Carpentaria’s mother, had
belonged to the plain and excellent French
bourgeoisie, who know so well how to cook and
how to save money, and Juliette had inherited
his tastes. Juliette was always curbing Carpen¬
taria’s instinct towards magnificence. She did
not want even three servants, and there were a
number of delicate tasks, such as the dusting of
Carpentaria’s table, that she would not permit

them to do.
Carpentaria touched nothing on the balcony.
He went into the bedroom, fastened the window,
and then hesitated. He could hear Juliette’s soft
movements in the study. Ought he, could he,
go to her and say bluntly: ‘ Juliette, some one is
trying to murder me, and you must take more
care than you took this morning—you allowed
my milk to be poisoned ?’
At last he opened the door of the study.
But it was not Juliette dusting the sacred table.
It was Jenkins, the parlourmaid!
Such a thing had never before happened in the
united domesticity of Carpentaria and Juliette!
It was astounding. It unnerved Carpentaria.
He locked the door of the bedroom, and put
the key in his pocket.
‘ What are you doing here ?’ he demanded
gruffly of the parlour-maid.
‘Dusting your table, sir,’ replied Jenkins, in
a tone that respectfully asked to be informed
whether Carpentaria was blind.
‘ Who told you to dust my table ?’
‘ Mistress, sir.’
‘ Where is your mistress ?’
‘ I don’t know, sir. She told me to come up
and dust the room.’ A pause. ‘ I—er—really
don’t know.5
‘ Go and find her. Ask her to speak to me at

once.’
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘Half a minute, Jenkins. It was you who
brought my milk up ?’
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ Where did you take it from ?’
‘ Mistress gave it me with her own hands, sir.’
‘ And you brought it direct to me ?’
* Yes, sir.’
‘ No one else touched it ?’
‘ No, sir.’
‘ Anybody called here this morning ?’
1 Called, sir ?’ Jenkins seemed ruffled.
‘Yes. Anybody been to the house ?’
‘No, sir,’ said Jenkins, as though in asking if
anybody had called Carpentaria was reflecting
upon her moral character. And she blushed.
‘ Very well. Go and find your mistress.’
Jenkins departed, and came back in a sur¬
prisingly short space of time.
‘ Mistress doesn’t seem to be about, sir,’ said
Jenkins.
‘ What ? She hasn’t gone out, has she ?’
‘ Not that I know of, sir. But I can’t find her.’
‘ Have you looked in her bedroom ?’
‘ I knocked at the door, sir.’
‘ And there was no answer ?’
‘ No, sir.’
5
‘ When did you last see your mistress ?’

‘ When she told me to dust this room, sir, after
I had brought up your milk/
‘ Where was she ?’
‘ In the dining-room, sir.’
A fearful thought ran through the mind of
Carpentaria, cutting it like a lancet. Suppose
that Juliette had been poisoned ! Suppose that
an attempt had been made against her, as against
him, but with more success! He hurried out of
the room and knocked loudly at her bedroom-
door.
‘Juliette ! Are you there ?’
No answer.
4 Juliette, I say !’
Again no answer. His heart almost stopped.
He opened the door and entered the room. It
was empty, but already the bed had been made
and everything tidied. He penetrated to the
dressing-room, which was equally neat and
equally empty.
Then he searched the house and the premises ;
he searched everywhere except in the little out¬
house wherein was hidden the corpse of the
drunken man. At length, after a futile cross-
examination of the cook in the kitchen, he per¬
ceived that the scullery-maid in the scullery was
surreptitiously beckoning to him.
This ungainly chit, Polly, whose person was
only kept presentable by the ceaseless efforts of

Juliette, had red hair, rather less red than Car¬
pentaria’s, and she worshipped him afar off. She
had that ‘ cult ’ for him which very humble
servants do sometimes entertain for masters who
never even throw them a glance. And now she
was beckoning to him and making eyes!
He followed her through the scullery into the
yard.
‘ Do you want mistress, sir ?’ asked Polly in a
whisper.
‘ Yes.’
‘ Well, she’s over the wye, sir.’
‘ Over the way ?’
‘Yes, sir, at Mr. Ilam’s. Mrs. Ilam’s been
here this morning, sir. Don’t tell mistress as I
told you, sir, for the love of heving!’
Juliette was at Ilam’s ! And he had twice found
Juliette in the avenue during the night! And she
had been strangely excited when she came to kiss
him before going to bed.
In something less than fifteen seconds he was
rattling loudly at Ilam’s door. He received no
answer. He heard no sound within the house.
Wondering where the servants could be, he
assaulted the door again, this time furiously. A
man who was rolling a lawn in the Oriental
Gardens glanced up at him. Still there was no
reply. He was just deciding to break into the
5—2
house by way of a window, when the door opened

very suddenly, and as he was leaning upon it, he
pitched forward into the hall and into the arms of
old Mrs. I lam, who, with her white cap, her black
dress and her parchment face, seemed aggrieved
by this entrance.
‘ Mr. Carpentaria!’ she protested, raising her
shaking hands.
But she was admirably and overpoweringly
calm, and her extreme age prevented Carpentaria
from taking the measures which he would have
taken had she been younger, less imposing, less
august, less like a dead woman who walked.
* My sister is here, and I must see her at once.’
‘No, Mr. Carpentaria; your sister is not here.’
Her tone startled him. It was so cold and
positive. But after a few seconds he thought she
was lying.
‘ She has been here, then ?’
‘ No, Mr. Carpentaria. She has not been
here.’
‘ Really ! But you have seen her this morning.
You came to my house.’
* No-’
* Excuse me, Mrs. I lam, I saw you from

my-’
‘ Ah !—from your balcony ? You saw me cross
the avenue, but you did not see me enter your
house. You could not have seen that from your
balcony, even if I had entered ; and, as it happens,

I didn’t enter.’
* My servants say you came.’
‘Your servants probably say a good many
things, Mr. Carpentaria,’ she smiled humorously.
The musician felt himself against a stone wall.
‘ Can I see your son ?’ he asked at length of
the imperturbable old woman.
‘ My son is in bed and far from well,’ said
Mrs. Ilam.
‘ Then I should like to talk to you instead,’ said
Carpentaria.
She seemed to burst into welcome.
‘ Come in, then, my dear man, do! Come in !’
And she preceded him into the drawing-room,
an apartment furnished in the richest Tottenham
Court Road splendour. They sat down on either
side of the hearth, where a fire was burning. He
did not know exactly how to begin.
‘ Now, Mr. Carpentaria,’ she encouraged him.
‘ Some very strange things have been happen¬
ing, Mrs. Ilam,’ said he.
He deemed that he might as well go directly
to the point. He would come to Juliette after¬
wards. So long as Juliette was not in Ilam’s
house she was probably in no immediate danger.
‘ To you ?’ asked the dame.
* To me. I saw some very strange things with
my own eyes last night, and within the last
twelve hours there have been two attempts to

murder me.’
A slight flush reddened the wrinkled yellow
cheek of Mrs. I lam. It seemed as though she
tried to speak and could not. Her fingers
worked convulsively.
‘You, too?’ she murmured, with apparent
difficulty.
‘ Why do you say “ you, too ”?’ Carpentaria
demanded.
She paused again.
‘ It was the milk ?’ she seemed to stammer.
‘ Yes, the second attempt; it was the milk,’
admitted Carpentaria.
She hid her face.
‘ The same attempt has been made against
Josephus,’ she said. ‘ And he was so frightened
it has made him ill. That is why he is not feeling
very well this morning.’
‘ But does Mr. Ilam take milk for breakfast ?
I thought he always had ham and eggs ?’
‘ Never!’ said Mrs. Ilam. ‘ Hot bread-and-milk.
Nothing else.’
' And how did he find out that the milk was
poisoned ?’ Carpentaria pursued.
‘ I—I don’t know,’ said Mrs. Ilam. ‘ But he
did. He’s very particular about his food, is Jos.
And he suspected something. So he tried it on
Neptune, the Newfoundland. And Neptune is
dead. He says he thinks it must be prussic acid.

Oh, Mr. Carpentaria, what is this plot against us
all ? What are we to do ?’
Carpentaria was reduced to muteness. The old
lady had changed the trend of his thoughts. He
had been secretly accusing Ilam, but if Ilam’s life
also had been attempted, the case was very much
altered. It was perhaps even more perilous.
Still, Mrs. Ilam had done nothing to explain the
extraordinary events of the night. He decided
to be cautious.
‘ I happened to see lights in your house very
late last night, or rather, early this morning,’ he
said. ‘ I was afraid that either you or Mr. Ilam
might be ill.’
His eyes sought hers and met them fully and
squarely.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed sadly. ‘Jos had a
dreadful night. He does have them sometimes,
you know. Bad dreams. In many ways he is
just like a child. There are nights when I think
his dreams are more real to him than his real life.
Now, last night he dreamed there was a corpse
lying on a bier in the avenue, and nothing would
satisfy him but that I should come out with him
to see. Fancy it! at my age! However, there
was nothing—of course.’
Carpentaria said to himself that the old lady
evidently was unaware of her son’s midnight
escapade, and that he could get no further with

her. The hope sprang up within him that Polly-
had been after all mistaken. Juliette might have
gone out merely for a stroll and have returned ere
then. He rose to take leave of Mrs. Ilam.
‘ What are you going to do ?’ she asked him.
‘ What about ?’
‘ Well, my dear man, about this attempted
poisoning.’
‘ I suppose we must inform the police/ he
replied.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she agreed. ‘ But perhaps
it would be well to wait until you had had a talk
with Jos. He’ll be getting up during the day.’
‘ We’ll see,’ said Carpentaria.
‘It’s a good thing it’s Sunday and we’re free,
isn’t it ?’ she remarked.
He had got precisely as far as the drawing¬
room door, when a voice reached his ears from
the upper story. ‘Mrs. Ilam! Mrs. Ilam!
He’s eaten his ham and eggs. What about the
marmalade ?’
Carpentaria dashed into the hall and looked up
the stairs, and he saw the head of Juliette over
the banisters.
Behind him he heard a suppressed sigh from
Mrs. Ilam.
CHAPTER IX
THE DEAD DOG
Carpentaria ran up the stairs. If he had not

had flame-coloured hair, and the fiery temper
that goes with it, he would probably have pursued
the more dignified course of calling Juliette down
and interrogating her in privacy. But he was
Carpentaria. She knew his moods, and she fled
before him into a sitting-room, where Ilam, a
dressing-gown covering his suit of Sunday black,
reclined in an easy-chair by the side of a small
table bearing an empty plate and a knife and
fork.
She cowered down on the floor.
‘ Oh, Carlos !’ she exclaimed under her breath.
Carpentaria made the obvious demand :
‘What are you doing in this house, Juliette?’
There was a silence.
‘ Look here, Carpentaria,’ Ilam began, rising a
little in a chair.
‘ Silence!’ cried Carpentaria angrily and
threateningly.
73
And at the noise the great dog Neptune, pride

of the Ilams, emerged from behind the chair and
growled.
Juliette said at last:
‘Mrs. Ilam told me that Jos—that Mr. Ilam
was unwell, and so I—I came to see how he was.
That’s all.’
‘Really!’ said Carpentaria. ‘Is that all?
Your philanthropic interest in the sick and suffer¬
ing, my girl, does you great credit. But as the
invalid seems to be doing fairly well you’d better
come home with me. I want to talk to you.’
Juliette gave a look of appeal to Ilam.
‘ I must tell him,’ she whispered. ‘ I must tell
Carlos. Why did you want me to keep it a
secret? Carlos, Mr. Ilam and I are engaged to
be married. We love each other. We only want
your consent, and Jos was afraid you mightn’t
give it. He was afraid. We’ve been engaged
three days now, haven’t we, Jos ?’
‘ My consent!’ Carpentaria shouted bitterly.
‘My consent!’ His wrath was dreadful, and yet
to a certain extent he was controlling himself.
‘ I suppose,’ he addressed Juliette, ‘it’s your love
for this estimable gentleman that leads you out
into the gardens of a night, and I suppose you
take beautiful romantic moonlight strolls together.
My consent! Ye gods !’
The dog continued to growl.
THE DEAD DOG 75
Juliette gathered herself together, and moved
to Ilam’s chair, and Ilam took her hand protec¬
tively.
‘ My poor dear ! Never mind!’ murmured Ilam
soothingly.
Genuine affection spoke in those tones uttered
by the stout and otherwise grotesque Mr. Ilam.
Love itself unmistakably appeared in the attitude
of the pair as they clasped hands in front of Car¬
pentaria’s fury. And Carpentaria could not but
be struck by what he saw. It sobered him,
puzzled him, diverted his thoughts.
‘Come, Juliette,’ he said in a quieter, more
persuasive tone.
He turned to leave the room, and Juliette
obediently followed. Allowing her to pass before
him, he stopped an instant and threw a glance at
Ilam.
‘ So they’ve been trying to poison you, Ilam.’
‘ Poison me!’ repeated Ilam, plainly at a loss.
‘Yes,’ said Carpentaria with a sneer. ‘And
you never have ham and eggs for breakfast.
That’s the reason why that plate is streaked with
yellow. You always have milk. Naturally, you
eat it with a knife and fork. And you suspected
the milk and gave some of it to Neptune, and
he fell down dead. He looks dead, doesn’t
he ?’
‘ I don’t know what you mean,’ Ilam said.
‘ You must ask mamma,’ replied Carpentaria

departing.
He saw now with the utmost clearness that
the aged Mrs. Ilam had been indulging him with
some impromptu lying, invented, and clumsily
invented, to put him off the scent, were it only
for a few hours.
‘ She may be clumsy in her lying,’ he thought
as he descended the stairs in Juliette’s wake,
‘ but she can act, the old woman can !’
He remembered that her acting had been
perfect, and if Juliette had not happened to
disclose the fact of her presence, the lying of
Mrs. Ilam, clumsy as it was, might have suc¬
ceeded. It is so easy to poison a dog, and to
arrange the remains of poisoned milk.
He was capable of congratulating her on her
acting, but she had utterly vanished from the
ground-floor.
When he had deposited Juliette safely in his
study, she began to cry softly. It was impossible
for him to maintain his anger against her.
‘Juliette,’ he said, ‘why do you have secrets
from me ?’
‘ Oh, Carlos, he wished it to be kept secret.
He said he had reasons; and I love him. No
one has ever loved me before, and I’m thirty.’
‘ What about my affection ?’ asked Carpen¬
taria.
THE DEAD DOG 77
‘ Oh, that’s different!’ she cried.
Then he questioned her about Mrs. I lam.
‘ I was at the kitchen window, preparing your
milk, and the window was open, and Mrs. Ilam
came up outside, and told me that Jos was unwell,
and wanted to see me.’
* Did she touch the milk ?’
‘ Touch the milk ? No ; why should she touch
the milk ?’
‘ Could she reach to touch the milk, supposing
she had wished to ?’
‘ I dare say she could. Yes, she could. But
why ?’
‘ Could you swear absolutely she didn’t ?’
‘ I couldn’t swear ; but I’m nearly sure. Carlos,
what do you mean ?’
* I’ll show you what I mean !’ said Carpentaria.
He unlocked the bedroom door and led her to
the balcony.
CHAPTER X
A PINCH OF SNUFF
Three hours later Carpentaria, whose thoughts

had been bent upon some solution of the problem
set by Juliette’s strange and incomprehensible love
affair with Josephus I lam, was obliged to devote
his brains to other and not less disturbing matters.
He received in his study, for the second time that
day, young Rivers, the newly-admitted doctor
who had been officially attached to the City of
Pleasure. A medical cabinet and a pharmacy
had been judged quite indispensible to the smooth
running of the City, and the foresight which had
provided them was entirely justified by the
numerous small accidents, faintings, and indis¬
positions that marked the opening day, when
more than three hundred persons had patronized
the pharmacy, and more than twenty had received
the attentions of the ardent young doctor.
Carpentaria had first met young Rivers when
this youth was walking Bart’s, and the accession of
Rivers to the brilliant and brilliantly remunerated
78
A PINCH OF SNUFF 79
position of physician and surgeon-in-ordinary to
the City of Pleasure was due to Carpentaria’s
influence. Rivers was grateful, very grateful.
Moreover, he liked Carpentaria, thought him, in
fact, the most wonderful man, except Lord Lister,
that he had ever met.
‘Well,’ said the fair youth of twenty-five, when
Carpentaria had shut the study-door, ‘ I’ve made
the analysis. It comes out to just about what I
expected.’
* Prussic acid ?’
‘ Not exactly prussic acid. A soluble cyanide
—cyanide of potassium. Have you by any chance
got a photographic bureau concealed somewhere
in the show ?’
‘ Why, of course,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ Didn’t
you know? It’s next door to the lecture-
hall.’
* Then the cyanide of potassium was probably
got from there. It’s used by photographers.
Better make inquiries.’
‘We will,’ Carpentaria agreed. ‘And do you
mean to say cyanide of potassium will kill like
that ? How much prussic acid does it contain ?’
‘ Scarcely any. Not two per cent—not one per
cent.’
‘ And poor Beppo was dead in a minute.’
‘ My dear Mr. Carpentaria,’ said Rivers ex¬
citedly. ‘ The strongest solution of prussic acid
known to commerce only contains four per cent,

of pure acid. And in the anhydrous state-’
‘ Anhydrous ?’
‘ That means without water. In the anhydrous
state,’ Rivers proceeded enthusiastically, ‘ two
grains will kill a man in a second of time. Like
that! It’s an amazing poison !’
Carpentaria shuddered.
‘ By the way,’ he said, as if casually, ‘ I’ve got a
corpse I want you to look at.’
‘ A corpse ?’
£ Keep calm, my young friend,’ Carpentaria
enjoined him. And he told him the history of
the drunken man. ‘ Naturally all this is strictly
confidential,’ he concluded.
‘ I should think so,’ said Rivers, aghast. ‘ Can
you not see that you have got yourself into a
dreadful mess? You are an accessory after the
fact. You have been guilty of a gross illegality.
I don’t know what the penalty is ; I’m not very
well up in medical jurisprudence ; but I know it’s
something pretty stiff. Why, you might be
accused of the murder.’
‘Yes, I am aware of all that,’ answered Car¬
pentaria. * But I was very curious ; and I didn’t
want any police meddling here.’
‘You are going just the way to bring them
here.’
‘Not at all. When you have made your
A PINCH OF SNUFF 81
examination I shall simply put the body where I

found it. No one will be the wiser.’
‘And then ?’
‘Then—we shall see. It will depend on your
examination.’
‘ But, really, Mr. Carpentaria, I cannot lend
myself-’
‘ Not to oblige me ?’
Carpentaria smiled an engaging smile, and they
descended together to the outhouse.
The outhouse was not more than eleven feet
square, and the barrow with its burden was
stretched across it diagonally, so that when the
two men were inside, the place was full and the
door would scarcely close. A small window gave
light.
Rivers gently pulled the black cloth aside.
‘ This is just such black cloth as photographers
use,’ he remarked.
‘ So it is,’ said Carpentaria.
The eyes of the corpse were closed ; he might
have been a man asleep, this strange relic from
which a soul had flown and which would soon
resolve itself into its original dust.
‘ Poor fellow,’ thought Carpentaria. ‘Once he
lived, and had interests, and probably passions,
and thought himself of some importance in the
universe.’
The spectacle saddened Carpentaria, whereas
6
the young doctor was not at all saddened, he was

merely intensely interested.
* A blow on the head among other things,’ he
observed, indicating to Carpentaria the top of the
skull which showed an abrasion together with an
extravasation of blood, now clotted.
‘ Would that do it ?’ queried Carpentaria.
‘ Don’t know. Might. By Jove, the rigor is
extraordinarily acute.’
* Rigor ?’
‘ The stiffness that follows death. Great
Scott!’
The doctor assumed an upright position, and
stared, first at the corpse and then at Carpen¬
taria.
‘ Great Scott!’ he repeated.
‘ What’s up.’
The doctor made no reply, but tried to lift the
left arm of the body. He could not, without
raising the entire body.
‘ This is most interesting,’ he said.
‘ What is ?’
Again Rivers did not answer. Instead, he took
his watch from his pocket, and put it suddenly
against the ear of the corpse.
The corpse twitched ; its head moved slightly ;
the eyelid lifted the eighth of an inch.
‘ See that ? You’re lucky ! And so’s he !’ said
the doctor. ‘ It’s catalepsy ! that’s all—A sudden
A PINCH OF SNUFF 83
slight noise at the ear itself will often produce a

change of position in catalepsy.’
‘ Then he’s not dead!’ exclaimed Carpentaria.
fDead? He’s no more dead than you are!
It’s just catalepsy, induced probably by that blow.
But he must have been very excited previously,
and, no doubt, suffering from melancholia too.
My dear Mr. Carpentaria, there is only one abso¬
lutely reliable symptom of death, and that is—
putrefaction. Death is imitated by various
diseases. But there are not many that will
imitate the coldness of death as catalepsy will.
Feel that hand ; it’s like ice.’
‘ And how long will he remain in this condition ?’
asked Carpentaria, full of joy and relief.
‘Till you go and bring me some snuff. Snuff
is the best thing in these cases.’
‘ And he’ll be perfectly well again ?’
‘ Yes, in a day or two.’
* He’ll remember—things ?’
‘ Of course he will! Shall I go for that snuff,
or will you ?’
‘ I will run,’ said Carpentaria, and he ran.
6—2
CHAPTER XI
THE RETURN TO LIFE
It was half-past seven o’clock on Monday-

evening. More than thirty hours had elapsed
since young Rivers first began his operations to
restore life to the cataleptic patient, and he was
only just succeeding in an affair which had proved
extremely difficult and protracted. Young Rivers,
in fact, had found out during the watches of
Sunday night and the sunny morning of Monday
that the disease (if catalepsy may be called a
disease) has a habit of flatly defying the rules of
medical text-books and the experience of even
the youngest doctors. But ultimately he had
triumphed, though not by means of the famous
snuff, which Carpentaria had obtained, after exhaus¬
tive research, from a bass-fiddle player in his band.
The patient reclined, alive, conscious, capable
of movement and speech, but otherwise a pro¬
digious enigma, in an arm-chair in Carpentaria’s
bedroom. His existence was a profound secret
from all except the doctor and the musician.
And now these two, who had brought him
84
THE RETURN TO LIFE 85
back to earthly life, wanted him to talk, to

explain himself, to unravel the mysteries of
Saturday afternoon and Saturday night. And
Carpentaria, dressed in his uniform, waited, watch
in hand ; for in half an hour the daily concert
must commence in the Oriental Gardens. Nothing
could interfere with Carpentaria’s presence in the
gorgeous illuminated bandstand. He had sacri¬
ficed his interest in his half-sister, his curiosity
about the doings of the Ilams, his inspection of
the affairs of the City, and even a rehearsal, to
the care of the recovering cataleptic, but the
concert itself, with its audience of a hundred
thousand or so, could not be sacrificed.
‘ So you are Carpentaria ?’ murmured the
patient, sipping at a glass of hot milk.
His age now appeared to be fifty. He had
grey hair and a short grey beard, rather whiter
than the hair, and his eyes bore the expression
of a man who has found that life bears no striking
resemblance to a good joke. His hands moved
nervously over the surfaces of the chair.
‘Yes,’ Carpentaria admitted ; ‘ and you ?’
It was the first direct question that he had
ventured to put to the enigma, and the enigma
ignored it.
‘You say I was buried and you unburied me?’
he pursued.
‘Yes,’ said Carpentaria enthusiastically, and
he described the journeys, the disappearances and

the reappearances, of the body of the enigma on
the opening night.
‘ I suppose I should have died really, if I’d
been left alone ?’ the enigma demanded of Rivers.
‘Undoubtedly,’ said Rivers. ‘Undoubtedly,’
he repeated.
The enigma turned almost fiercely on Car¬
pentaria.
* Then why, in the name of common sense,
couldn’t you have left me alone ?’ he cried.
It was as though he owed Carpentaria a grudge
which the most cruel ingenuity could not satisfy.
‘ I—I thought-’ Carpentaria stammered,
too surprised to be able to argue well.
‘ You thought you were doing a mighty clever
thing,’ snapped the enigma.
‘ I merely-’
‘ Or, rather,’ the enigma proceeded, ‘ you
didn’t think at all.’
Rivers and Carpentaria exchanged a glance,
indicating to each other that the man was an
invalid and must therefore be humoured.
‘ Really, Mr.-’ Carpentaria began.
‘Call me Jetsam,’ the invalid interrupted. ‘It
isn’t my name, but it’s near enough.’
‘Well, Mr. Jetsam-’
‘ Not at all,’ said Mr. Jetsam, sitting up in the
chair. ‘ There I was, comfortably dead, blind
and deaf for evermore to the stupidities, the
shams, the crimes, and the tedium of this world,
and you go and deliberately recreate me! Is
your opinion of the earth, and particularly of
England, so high that you imagine a man is
better on it than off it ? Have you reached your
present position and your present age, without
coming to the conclusion that a person once
comfortably dead would never want to be alive
again ? It seems to me, that you took upon
yourselves the responsibility, the terrible respon¬
sibility, of putting me back into life without
giving the! matter a moment’s serious thought.
And I do verily believe that you expected me to
be grateful! Grateful!’
‘ It was a question of duty-’ Carpentaria
ventured.
‘Yes, of course. It only remained for you to
drag in that word; I anticipated it. And why
was it your duty ? Who told you it was your
duty ? What authority have you for saying it
was your duty? None—absolutely none! The
sole explanation of your conduct is that, like
most human beings, you are an interfering busy¬
body ; you can’t leave a thing alone.’
At length Carpentaria laughed. He was con¬
scious of a certain liking for Mr. Jetsam.
‘ I can but offer you my humble apologies,’ he
said. ‘ They are of no avail ; they will not undo
what is done. But none the less I offer them to

you. You see, when I last saw you alive, you
were so drunk, so very drunk-’
‘I was not drunk at all,’ said Mr. Jetsam.
‘ And your inability to perceive the fact proves
that, though you may be able to wear a very
stylish uniform and to make a great deal of
noise with a band, you are an infant as a
detective. No, sir, I had certain plans to
execute, and you, with that meddlesomeness that
appears to characterize you, came along and
interfered. In order that I might be left alone
I pretended to be drunk. I have never been
drunk in my life, which is conceivably more than
you can say for yourself, or you, sir ’—and he
pointed to the young doctor, who had only
recently finished being a medical student.
‘ And those plans—may one inquire ?’ Carpen¬
taria murmured.
Mr. Jetsam covered his face with his hands.
‘ Ah !’ he sighed, evidently speaking to himself.
c I had done with all that, and now I must begin
again. My instincts will inevitably drive me to
begin again. My dear people’—he surveyed his
two companions with an acid and distant stare—
‘ instead of saving life, you have only set in
motion a chain of circumstances that will lead
to the loss of it. Murder and the scaffold will
probably be the net result of your officious zeal.
There was a rap on the bedroom door.

‘ Five minutes to eight, sir,’ called a voice.
‘ Right,’ said Carpentaria, getting up ; and to
Mr. Jetsam, ‘ I will see you after the concert.’
‘ I doubt it,’ said Mr. Jetsam.
‘ Why not ?’
‘ Because I shall be gone. I am feeling quite
strong.’
‘1 should like to talk to you about certain
people,’ pursued Carpentaria.
‘ Who ?’
‘Well, Josephus Ilam.’
‘ I know all about Josephus Ilam.’
‘ And his mother. Perhaps you don’t know all
about his mother.’
Mr. Jetsam jumped to his feet with singular
agility.
‘Mrs. Ilam! She’s been dead for years,’ he
said gravely.
‘She was very much alive this morning,’ re¬
plied Carpentaria.
‘ He told me she was dead,’ Jetsam muttered.
‘ He lied. She is in the bungalow opposite.’
‘Oh!’ Jetsam breathed, and he seemed to
breathe the breath out of his body. He swayed
and fell back into the chair.
‘ By Jove! He’s fainted !’ exclaimed Rivers.
‘ Look after him,’ said Carpentaria, and flew
downstairs and towards his bandstand.
CHAPTER XII
ON THE WHEEL
The concert was over. If it had been as great

a triumph as usual—and it had—the reasons were
perhaps that nothing succeeds like success, and
that the Carpentaria band was so imbued with the
spirit of Carpentaria that it would have played in
the Carpentaria manner even had the shade of
Beethoven come down to conduct it. Certainly
Carpentaria’s performances with the baton, though
wild and bizarre, lacked that sincerity and that
amazing invention which usually distinguished
them. He had too much to think about. There
was the possibility of getting shot as he stood
there. There was the possibility of being poisoned
at his next meal. There was the possibility of
some fearful complication with Juliette and I lam.
There was the positive mystery of Ilam himself.
There was the comparative mystery of Ilam’s
mother. And there was the superlative mystery
of Mr. Jetsam. Under these circumstances, with
all these pre-occupations, the plaudits of a hundred
90
ON THE WHEEL 91
thousand people did not particularly interest Car¬
pentaria that night. His chief desire was to get
back to Mr. Jetsam, and to extract Mr. Jetsam’s
secrets out of Mr. Jetsam either by force, by
fraud, or by persuasion. As he was bowing
languidly for the nineteenth time, and the entire
orchestra was bowing behind him, amid a hurri¬
cane of clapping, he thought to himself:
‘ It’s a good thing I’m not in love ! It would
only need that, in addition to what I already have
on my hands, to drive me crazy!’
As a fact, he had never been in love. Art,
particularly as expressed by brass instruments,
was his mistress.
He turned to descend the steps from the band¬
stand, when he perceived a tall African standing
at attention at the bottom of the steps.
‘ What do you want ?’ he asked the African.
The man smiled the placid and infantile smile
of his race, and handed a note to Carpentaria.
‘ You from the Soudanese village?’
c Yes, sah.’
The inhabitant of the Soudanese village, which
was one of the attractions of the hippodrome,
stood about six feet four inches high, and he was
in native costume, which consisted largely, but
not exclusively, of beads and polish. To gaze,
dazzled, at the polish on that man’s face, shoulders,
chest, and calves, one would guess that the whole
tribe must sit up at nights bringing his polish to

such a unique pitch of perfection. In his cheek
you could see yourself as in a mirror, and he
had the air of being personally well satisfied with
the splendour of his mahogany skin.
Carpentaria opened the note. It read :
‘ Please come to me at once.—I lam.’
Should he go ? Or should he refuse this strange

invitation, and hasten at once to Mr. Jetsam and
the doctor ?
‘ Where is Mr. Ilam ?’ he demanded of the
Soudanese.
The Soudanese merely increased his smile, and
pointed vaguely in the direction of the Amuse¬
ments Park.
‘ Over there ?’
* Yes, sah.’
‘ But where, man ?’
‘ Yes, sah !’ He lifted an arm and pointed.
The upper part of the illuminated rim of the
giant wheel, a hundred feet higher than any other
wheel in the world, could be seen over the roofs
of the lofty white buildings in the Central Way.
At this moment a rushing, roaring noise was heard
to the east, and simultaneously the lights of the
giant wheel were extinguished. Carpentaria
glanced round. A rocket burst with a faint
reverberation in the sky, a little colony of crimson
ON THE WHEEL 93
stars floated for a few seconds amid the clouds—
some stars had the shape of the letter I and
others of the letter C—and then they expired,
and the sky was black again. Cheers greeted
the ingenious signal for the commencement of the
first pyrotechnic display of the City of Pleasure,
and a small crowd, which was beginning to form
in the neighbourhood of the Soudanese, frittered
itself suddenly away in a rush towards the
embankment. The fireworks were discharged
from a plot of ground on the other side of
the river—a plot specially leased for that sole
purpose.
* I’ll come with you,’ said Carpentaria to the
Soudanese. He had decided that an interview
with Ilam could not do any harm, and there was
always the chance that it might in some way
prove decisive. As for Mr. Jetsam, he would
deal with Mr. Jetsam later. Possibly Ilam might
have determined to make a general confession
to him.
And he had his revolver.
The Soudanese walked quickly, and he was
several inches taller than Carpentaria. In some¬
thing less than five minutes they had arrived at
the entrance to the Amusements Park, which was
closing for the night.
‘ Where is Mr. Ilam ?’ Carpentaria asked again.
The Soudanese smiled.
They stood at the foot of the giant wheel, all

of whose sixty cars were in darkness save one,
and this car was at the bottom, and its door was
open. Near the door stood a single official in the
uniform of the City.
Carpentaria began to be puzzled.
‘ Mr. I lam at the top?’ he asked the official.
‘ I think so, sir,’ said the official, after hesi¬
tating.
Carpentaria went into the car. The Soudanese
shut the sliding door, remaining himself outside.
The official blew a whistle, and the giant wheel
began slowly to revolve with a terrific vibration
and straining of chains and rods. The car was
designed to hold sixty people—when the giant
wheel was in full work it earned a hundred and
eighty pounds per revolution—and Carpentaria
felt lonely in it. ‘Is this some trap ?’ his thoughts
ran ; and he said to himself that he didn’t care
whether it was a trap or not. As the car rose in
the sky he had a superb view of the fireworks,
which were now in full career—an immense and
glittering tapestry of changing coloured flame,
reflected hue for hue and tint for tint on the calm
surface of the Thames beneath. And high above
the pyrotechnics lightning was beginning to play.
The day had been hot, even close, and it had
been a pleasing surprise to the money-takers of
the City that rain had not fallen.
ON THE WHEEL 95
At last the wheel shuddered, shook, and stopped.
The car was at the summit, three hundred and
forty feet above the level of the earth. A figure
appeared on the flying platform outside the car.
The door was opened, and I lam entered.
‘ What’s the meaning of this ?’ Carpentaria
demanded of him, standing up suddenly, and
instinctively feeling the handle of his revolver
with his right hand.
‘ It means that I wish to talk to you in private,’
answered I lam, emphasizing the last two words ;
‘ and there seems to me to be no place particu¬
larly private down below now,’ he added.
‘ What do you infer ?’
‘ Perhaps I don’t quite know what I infer,’ said
Ilam. ‘ All I can tell you is that this City has
been getting rather peculiar this last day or two.’
‘ It has,’ Carpentaria agreed pointedly.
c And as you went to the trouble of taking me
up in that thing’—he indicated overhead, where
the captive balloon was darting a searchlight to
and fro across the expanse of the grounds—‘ I
thought I’d go to the trouble of bringing you up
here. It’s safer.’
Carpentaria noticed how pale the man was,
how changed his visage, and how nervous his
demeanour.
* I hope it is,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ What do you
want ?’
‘ Let’s sit down,’ replied Ilam, clearing his

throat, and they sat down on opposite sides of
the car. ‘ I’ll explain what I want in three
words. How much will you take to clear out ?
I’m a plain man—how much will you take to
clear out ?’
‘ Clear out of the City ?’
‘ I won’t take anything,’ said Carpentaria. ‘All
the gold of all the Rockefellers won’t clear me out.
I’ve got the largest audience for my band that any
bandmaster ever had, and I like it. It’s worth
more than money to me.’
‘ Is it worth more than life to you ?’ asked the
heavy President, gloomily.
‘ No ; but I reckon I can keep my life and my
audience, too,’ said Carpentaria. * At any rate,
you’ve tried to have my life twice and failed, and
that hasn t frightened me. I’m less frightened
than you are, even.’
‘ I’ve not tried to kill you,’ said Ilam.
‘You’ve tried to shoot me and to poison me.
Why, I cannot imagine.’
‘ I’ve not,’ repeated Ilam.
And, in spite of himself, Carpentaria was im¬
pressed by the apparent truthfulness of Ilam’s
tone.
‘ Then who has ?’
‘ I’ve no idea,’ said Ilam lamely. ‘ I don’t know
what you mean, what you are referring to. But
ON THE WHEEL 97
I’ll give you fifty thousand a year for ten years to

go—to go.’
‘ No,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ I’m here. I stay.’
‘ Then, you’ll take the consequences.’
‘ I always take the consequences. But what
consequences, my friend ?’
‘ Well,’ I lam coughed, ‘ you say there have
been attempts on your life. Suppose they are
continued ? What then ? I should like to save
you. And perhaps I can only save you by per¬
suading you to vanish.’
‘Awfully good of you,’ Carpentaria sneered.
‘ But I assure you that these attempts on my life
interest me enormously. I wouldn’t miss them
for a fortune. I’m beginning rather to like
them. One gets used to an atmosphere of
mystery. No, Mr. President, I shall not go;
but Juliette will go. I shall send Juliette away
to-morrow.’
I lam bit his lip.
‘ That remains to be seen,’ said he. ‘ She likes
me. I should make her a good husband. Why
do you object to me ?’
‘ Why do you court her in the dark ? Why do
you force her to have secrets from me ?’
‘ That’s neither here nor there,’ said I lam. ‘ I
should make her a good husband.’
‘ But what sort of a mother-in-law would she
have if she married you ?’ demanded Carpentaria.
7
I lam made no reply.

‘ And,’ continued Carpentaria, ‘ I don’t think
it’s a good thing for a woman to have a husband
who is always seeing ghosts.’
‘ Seeing ghosts ?’
‘ Don’t you see ghosts ?’ sneered Carpentaria.
‘ N—no.’
‘ Come down with me, and I will show you one,
then,’ said the bandmaster.
He had conceived the idea of confronting Ilam
with Mr. Jetsam.
The shifting searchlight from the balloon fell
dazzlingly across the car, and through the window
Carpentaria saw plainly for the fraction of a second
the polished face of the Soudanese. Then it dis¬
appeared.
He rushed to the door, flung it open, and
gazed downwards into the weblike tracery of the
steel-work which shone dully in the white glare
of the searchlight. A zigzag stairway, incom¬
parably slender, stretched away towards earth
along the face of the colossal wheel, and a
dark figure slipped rapidly from rung to rung
of the dizzy ladder. Then the light moved
capriciously away, and all was indistinguishable
blackness.
CHAPTER XIII
PERFORMANCES OF MR. JETSAM
Carpentaria slipped back into the car with a

shiver, as it occurred to him that Ilam, had he so
chosen, might have pushed him into three hundred
and forty perpendicular feet of space. But Ilam
had not moved.
‘I’ve had enough,’ said Carpentaria. ‘We’ll
descend. Ring the bell.’
‘No,’ said Ilam. ‘ I want to-’
‘We’ll descend,’ Carpentaria insisted.
‘ It’s about Juliette,’ pleaded Ilam.
‘ We’ll descend,’ said Carpentaria a third time.
‘ Ring the bell.’
He sat down, took his revolver from his pocket,
and put it ostentatiously on his knees.
Ilam sighed, and pushed the white disc that
communicated with the engine-house, and a few
moments later a vibration went through the wheel,
and it resumed its revolution. The car came
down on the side nearest the river, and its
occupants had a superb view of the final items of
99 7—2
IOO THE CITY OF PLEASURE
the display of fireworks. Among them were two

portraits, in living flame, of the twin gods of the
City of Pleasure, and under each headpiece was
the name of its subject : ‘ I lam,’ ‘ Carpentaria.’
The cheers of the immense multitude greeted
their ears. Then there was another sound, but it
came from above instead of from below. Ilam
shrank as if afraid.
‘ You needn’t be frightened,’ said Carpentaria.
‘ It isn’t the trumpet of the Day of Judgment, it’s
only the beginning of a thunderstorm. It’s just
come in nice time to soak everybody through on
their way home.’
Rain spattered viciously on the windows.
When they reached the ground a strange sight
met their eyes—the sight of seas and oceans of
black, shining umbrellas, surging in waves from
all directions towards the Central Way and the
exits from the City, and as the umbrellas reached
the covered footpaths of the Central Way they
collapsed and showed human beings. And then,
at all the exits from the City, all these umbrellas
—and it was estimated that there were over a
quarter of a million of them—sprang again into
life, and hid their owners. The tempest was
already at its height.
‘ Come with me,’ said Carpentaria, as Ilam
sought to leave him, when they quitted the
Amusements Park.
PERFORMANCES OF MR. JETSAM ioi
c No,’ said Ilam flatly.

They stood side by side in the open, heedless
of the rain, while shelter in the shape of the side¬
walks of the Central Way was within a few yards
of them. The searchlight from the balloon still
swept about the grounds, but the fireworks were
finished.
‘You shall come with me and see a ghost,’
insisted Carpentaria angrily and obstinately, ‘ or I
will make such a scandal in this place as will go
far to ruin it. Let me tell you that I know a
great deal more than you think. I am in a posi¬
tion, for example, to ask you, Ilam, whether you
spend your nights in bed or wandering about the
grounds carrying mysterious burdens.’
A group of visitors hurried past them.
‘ What do you mean ?’ muttered Ilam. * I—you
must be going off your head.’
‘Doubtless I’m a madman, eh? Well, come
along with the madman.’
Ilam sighed. They passed into the Central
Way, and had to fight for progress against the
multitudes that crowded the footpaths. No one
recognized them.
‘I wish we could understand each other,’ said
Ilam.
‘ We shall, rest assured of that,’ returned Car¬
pentaria. ‘ In quite a few minutes we shall under¬
stand each other, or I am mistaken, and it may be
you that will have to leave this City—and with

considerably less than fifty thousand a year, my
friend.’
He pictured the moment when he should con¬
front I lam with the man whose corpse I lam had
buried. Vistas opened out before him. He saw
the tables completely turned ; he saw himself sole
master of the City, and the wielder of such power
over I lam as would enforce obedience to his
wishes. Then there would be no more insulting
requests to abandon his music, no more ridiculous
suggestions, and no fear of foolishness on the part
of Juliette. It astonished him that he had not
realized before the enormous latent power which
his knowledge of Saturday night gave him over
Ilam.
‘You will come with me to my house,’ he said.
‘ Who is there ?’ asked Ilam wearily.
‘ Dr. Rivers—and the ghost.’
‘ What is all this nonsense about a ghost ?’
‘You shall see him first, and then, when you
have seen him—before he has seen you—you
shall tell me whether or not you would like to
have a chat with him. It is a ghost warranted to
talk.’
Ilam said nothing. He was naturally at a com¬
plete loss.
They entered the bungalow by means of Car¬
pentaria’s latchkey, and they mounted to the first-
PERFORMANCES OF MR. JETSAM 103
floor, and they went into the study. The door of

the bedroom was shut. Carpentaria led I lam out
on to the balcony of the study window, from
which it was not difficult, even for Ilam, to climb
into the balcony of the bedroom.
‘ Now, you shall look into my bedroom,’ said
Carpentaria.
And he himself looked first. It may be said
that he was astounded.
The room was lighted. There was no signs of
Mr. Jetsam, but two chairs had been overturned,
and young Rivers lay prone on the floor, his eyes
shut, and some blood flowing from a wound in his
forehead.
Carpentaria sprang into the room, and, strange
to say, Ilam followed him. The fact was that
Ilam did really for the moment believe Carpen¬
taria to be mad, and the bedroom to be the scene
of some maniacal crime.
Just then Rivers came to his senses.
‘That you, Mr. Carpentaria?’ he murmured,
rubbing his eyes.
‘Yes. What’s happened? Where’s Jetsam,
as he calls himself? You’re not seriously hurt,
are you ?’
At the name of Jetsam, Ilam caught his breath
and took hold of a bedpost.
‘ Jetsam ?’ he repeated.
‘ You evidently recognize the name of my
104 THE city of pleasure
ghost,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ though he isn t

here.’
‘ He bashed me on the head with a chair, said
the doctor, sitting up and putting a handkerchief
to his head, ‘ and I suppose I must have It
can’t be more than a minute or two since-’
‘ But what was he doing ? Where’s he gone ?
inquired Carpentaria impatiently.
‘ He recovered consciousness quite quickly,
answered Rivers, ‘ and I gave him something to
drink ; then he asked me about Mrs. I lam, and I
told him she lived with Mr. Ilam here, and he
grew very excited, and said he must go to her at
once. I said he couldn’t; I said you wouldn’t
allow that, and he pretended to agree ; but it was
only a pretence. He began to talk about other
things, and then, all of a sudden, he sprang at me,
and that’s as much as I remember.’
Without a word Carpentaria ran out downstairs
and into the avenue. The door of Ilam’s house
stood wide open. He entered. In the hall he
perceived that the door of the drawing-room was
also wide open, and he entered the drawing-room.
There was no light in the room save that of a
match, and the match was held by Mr. Jetsam.
Mr. Jetsam stood staring at Mrs. Ilam, and Mrs.
Ilam sat motionless in her chair, apparently trying
to articulate and not succeeding. An appalling
fear shone in her eyes. No sound could be
PERFORMANCES OF MR. JETSAM 105
heard except the rattling of the rain on the

French window.
Mr. Jetsam turned, and in the same second he
dropped the match. The room was in darkness.
Then followed a crash of glass and splintering of
wood, and then a heavy fall in the apartment
itself. With some trouble, Carpentaria found the
electric switch and turned on the light. Mrs.
Ilam’s lips were still trembling in a vain effort to
speak. Her son lay stretched and whimpering at
her feet. Mr. Jetsam had vanished. The window
was in ruins.
Dr. Rivers appeared. He had-bandaged his
forehead.
* She is paralysed !’ said the doctor, when he had
examined Mrs. Ilam. ‘ She will never again have
the use of her limbs or her organs of speech. She
will be able to see and to hear, that’s all.’
PART II
THE TWINS
CHAPTER XIV
ENTRY OF THE TWINS
It is a singular fact that the secondary stage of

the drama which I am relating was tremendously,
vitally, influenced by the marriage of Mr. Luke
Shooter, junior partner in Shooter’s, a firm of
wholesale ribbon merchants in Cannon Street.
Luke Shooter did not know it. Luke Shooter
had nothing whatever to do with the drama; it is
very probable that he never even heard of it,
except such trifling fragments as got into the
newspapers. Nevertheless, by the mere fact of
marrying, Luke Shooter unconsciously changed
the course of events in the City of Pleasure. For
he was a man of broad views, and he liked people
to think well of him, and so it occurred that, at
his suggestion, the multitudinous staff of Shooter’s
was given a complete holiday on the day of his
107
io8 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
marriage, and that day happened to be Tuesday,

May 4.
So much for Mr. Luke Shooter.
Many of the employes spent the latter half of
the day in the City of Pleasure, which was now
the rage, the craze, and the vogue of London,
and among- these were the twin sisters, Pauline
and Rosie Dartmouth. Pauline and Rosie were
typists in the house of Shooters. Their age
was twenty-six. They were tall, and rather
slim; only Rosie, the younger, was not quite
so slim as Pauline. Pauline was dark; Rosie
was inclined to fairness. In the partnership
between them Pauline supplied the common
sense, while Rosie supplied the gaiety ; each
supplied a considerable amount of beauty and
charm, and a sum of thirty-five shillings a week.
It is obvious that on a total income of three
pounds ten a week, or a hundred and eighty-two
pounds a year, two girls living together in a small
flat, with sense and gaiety and full opportunity
for acquiring ribbons at wholesale prices, may
have a very good time and cut quite a pretty
figure in the world. And this Pauline and Rosie
certainly did manage to do.
They were orphans, and had been for a very
long time.
They came to the City by the Tube from their
flat in Shepherd’s Bush, and Pauline put a florin
ENTRY OF THE TWINS 109
down for the two of them at the northern
entrance gates, just as though they had been
ordinary visitors; as, in fact, at that moment
they were. A few persons noticed them, but
quite casually, and only because they were
dressed—and well dressed—almost exactly alike.
There are so many beautiful young women in
London that Londoners seldom turn their heads
to look at one. It is left to Frenchmen to rave
about the blond charm of the Anglo-Saxon
1 mees.' What exuberant adjectives the French¬
man would find to express his delight if he
penetrated further north, into Staffordshire,
Lancashire, and Yorkshire, where ugly faces and
bad complexions are practically unknown, it is
impossible to guess.
The City of Pleasure met with the entire
approval of Pauline and Rosie. As soon as they
found themselves in the Central Way they began
to get enthusiastic. The sun was shining, the
flags were flying, the cable-cars were gliding, and
thousands and thousands of visitors made gay the
City. They had never before seen anything like
the Central Way, with its colonnades, and its
shops, and its coloured throngs, and its soaring,
gleaming, white architecture.
‘It’s just as good as being abroad, isn’t it?’
said Rosie.
‘ Better,’ said Pauline.
I IO THE CITY OF PLEASURE
But then they had never been beyond Boulogne.
They stopped at shop windows, as much to
regard jewellery and knick-knacks, as to observe
whether their frocks and chiffons and hats were
in that immaculate order which a sunny day and
the presence of one’s fellow-creatures demand.
It may be mentioned here that their dresses
were of dark blue, with blue belts, bunchy knots
of white muslin at the throat, white gloves, brown
glace kid boots, and large blue-and-black picture
hats. It was plain, but it was perfect, and they
knew it was perfect. The consciousness of
perfection enabled them to sustain the judicial
gaze of other women, and the passing glance of
innumerable young men, with a supercilious stare.
In truth they were secretly wild with the joy of
life, and the attractiveness of the City, and the
sensations of their holiday, but they did not show
it. Oh, no! They did not show it. They were
prim to the most advanced degree, as became
them.
‘ I should just love to go on one of those dear
little cable-cars!’ exclaimed Rosie.
‘Well, let’s,’ Pauline agreed.
‘ Aren’t they delicious ?’ said Rosie.
And only in the girlish hop, skip, and jump,
which landed them gracefully on a car, was
there a hint of the pent-up vivacity which surged
in their veins—a hint that vanished as rapidly
as it had showed itself. As Rosie smoothed out

her skirt, and as Pauline opened the purse in her
gloved hand to give two pence to the con¬
ductor, they had the utter demureness of
duchesses.
The car was open to the sky, with crosswise
seats and, as it sailed rapidly down the Central
Way, constantly passing other cars coming in
the opposite direction, and passing fountains and
flower-beds and elephants and camels, and all
the strange world of the City, the pleasure became
rather too keen for Rosie’s mercurial heart. She
took Pauline’s hand and pressed it, sitting a little
bit closer to her.
‘ Suppose we meet him ?’ she whispered.
‘ What ? In this crowd ? Never ! Besides, he
isn’t likely to be outside,’ said Pauline.
She was only a few minutes older than Rosie,
but she could not have played the elder sister
more completely had she been ten years older.
‘We might meet her, anyway!’ murmured
Rosie.
‘Nonsense, Rosie. You don’t imagine she’ll
be here, do you ?’
‘ I don’t know,’ said Rosie, lifting her chin.
‘ But suppose we do meet him, or either of
them.’
‘ Well, then,’ said Pauline wisely, ‘ we meet
them, that’s all.’
‘ Shall you speak to them ?’ Rosie asked ; ‘ I

shan’t.
‘We’ll think about that when we see them.’
said Pauline.
‘ Oh !’ cried Rosie.
This exclamation had nothing to do with the
foregoing chatter. It merely expressed some
part of Rosie’s joy when the car came to the
magnificent circular place half-way down the
Central Way, with the facade of the Exposition
Palace on the right, the stately entrance to the
Oriental Gardens on the left, and the superb vista
of the thoroughfare before and behind.
‘ Oh!’ cried Rosie again, for quite a different
reason.
Already she had forgotten the architectural and
other beauties of this scene, and was eagerly
directing Pauline’s attention to a tall man with
vivid hair and an individual style, who had just
crossed the rails in front of the car and was
proceeding towards the Oriental Gardens.
‘There!’ said Rosie, pointing frantically, yet
primly. ‘ Don’t you see him ?’
‘ Who ? That man with the red hair ?’
‘ Yes ; it’s Carpentaria, isn’t it ?’
‘ So it is, I do declare!’ agreed Pauline, frankly
as interested as her sister.
It was.
‘Oh!’ breathed Rosie regretfully, as the car
ENTRY OF THE TWINS [I3
swept them further from the figure of the popular
hero. ‘ Doesn’t he look lovely ? He’s just like
his portraits, only nicer, isn’t he ?’
‘ I—I couldn’t see him very well,’ said the
discreet Pauline.
‘ Yes, you could,’ Rosie corrected her sharply.
‘ You know you adore him. But you’re always so
mum.’
Pauline smiled placidly.
c I do wish we could meet him—be introduced
to him I mean!’ said Rosie.
‘ My dear child,’ Pauline reprimanded. * Don’t
be silly. He’s frightfully rich.’
‘ I know!’ said Rosie sadly. ‘ But he isn’t
married. I think his hair’s beautiful.’
In common with very many English and other
girls, Rosie and Pauline were capable of display¬
ing brazenly, for a man they had scarcely seen, an
affection the tenth part of which certain males
with whom they were intimately acquainted
would have been delighted to receive. Their
virgin hearts had never been touched, not even
by the Apollos of the house of Shooter; they
prided themselves on their unapproachableness;
yet they could rave about Carpentaria, and openly
profess that they were his slaves. In Carpentaria’s
presence they would doubtless have behaved,
even if they did not feel, differently.
The car whirled them to the other end of the
8
1*4 THE city of pleasure
City, and they began systematically to do every¬

thing and to see everything that could be done
and seen, from the captive balloon (not that they
did that—they were content to see it) to the
Soudanese native village, from the circus to the
exhibition relating to Woman, from the cricket
field to the Freak Show, and from the Art
Galleries to the ladies’ afternoon-tea cafe. They
were in the ladies’ afternoon-tea cafe, and paying
for two pots of tea, seven cakes, and an extra
cream, just as the clock struck five. It then
occurred to them that a concert of military music
began at precisely five o’clock in the Oriental
Gardens, and they decided to go and listen to it,
even though, sad to say, Carpentaria never con¬
ducted in person till the evening.
They crossed the Central Way, and were
strolling along the avenue to the Gardens, when
Pauline stopped.
‘ Well, I never !’ she exclaimed.
‘ What is it ?’
Coming down the steps of Ilam’s bungalow
was the great Ilam himself, and it was to I lam
she pointed.
‘What shall we do ?’ whispered Rosie. ‘ He’s
lots older, isn’t he ? . . . And you said we
shouldn’t meet him!’
They walked on, irresolute and blushing, and
just as they arrived opposite Ilam’s gate, with
ENTRY OF THE TWINS ii5
their eyes gazing studiously straight in front of

them, Ilam called out:
‘ Hi, there! Young ladies !’
Now, the avenue was generously sprinkled with
people, but Pauline and Rosie happened to be
the only young ladies within hail, and to have
ignored such a loud and unmistakable appeal
as Ilam’s would have drawn down upon them
more public attention than they desired. They
therefore stopped, still blushing, but delightfully
blushing, and smiling with that innate kindliness
of heart which distinguished both of them. Rosie
spoke first. She was a woman, and had posi¬
tively stated that under the circumstances she
should not speak. Hence, naturally, she spoke
first.
‘ Good afternoon, cousin,’ said she.
In her manner of pronouncing that word
‘ cousin,’ a non-committal manner, a more-than-
meets-the-eye manner, a defensive manner—in a
word, a family manner—she indicated a whole
family history. When relatives who are distant
in more senses than one meet after a considerable
period, that particular manner is invariably em¬
ployed by the one who speaks first.
The history of the Dartmouths and the Hams
was quite simple—indeed, so usual as to be hardly
worthy of record. Mrs. Dartmouth, mother of
the twins, had been an Ilam. She was the
8—2
orphan child of Josephus’ dead uncle, and there¬

fore niece of Josephus’ father. And before her
marriage she was understood to have 1 expecta¬
tions ’ from that mighty and opulent soda-water
manufacturer. However, heedless of these ex¬
pectations, she went and married beneath her—-
to wit, a solicitor’s clerk. The niece of a rich
soda-water manufacturer has no business to
marry a solicitor’s clerk. The result was a com¬
plete estrangement. Mrs. Dartmouth gave all
the Ilams to understand that she and her husband
had no need of anyone’s money—that, in fact,
they scorned the Ilam millions. Mrs. Dartmouth
met Josephus at his father’s funeral. Ten years
later Pauline and Rosie met Josephus at Mrs.
Dartmouth’s funeral. They shook hands formally,
and made it clear to Josephus that they would
stoop to accept no gift from him, who had scorned
their mother, even should he offer it.
That was seven years ago, and Pauline and
Rosie were now absolutely alone in the world,
and, moreover, age had taught them tolerance,
and their curiosity had been extremely excited
by the news of their cousin’s partnership with
the world-renowned Carpentaria, and the subse¬
quent birth of the City of Pleasure. So that,
in spite of anything they might have previously
said to each other, they were rather pleased to
meet their solemn cousin, who, after all, was a
millionaire, and who really seemed less aloof and

stiff than he appeared at funerals.
‘ So you were going to cut me ?’ said Ilam,
trying to smile.
‘No, cousin,’ said Pauline. ‘How are you?
You don’t look very well.’
They shook hands over the gate.
* I’m not,’ said Ilam.
‘And Mrs. Ilam. She keeps pretty well, I
hope,’ put in Rosie decorously.
‘ That’s just it. She doesn’t. She’s-
Won’t you come in ?’
And he opened the gate.
‘ Do you live here ?’ cried Rosie. 4 Fancy
living in the middle of this place! How jolly!
And what a jolly house ! Oh! what a delicious
notion—living in the show !’
And they disappeared into the bungalow.
The historic family coolness looked as if it was
going to warm itself into a sort of pleasant
acquaintanceship.
CHAPTER XV
PROPOSAL OF JOSEPHUS
‘ Yes/ I lam was saying when they came down¬

stairs, ‘ she has been like that since last night,
and the doctors—I have had two—assure me
that at her age no recovery is possible. She can
take liquid food, and she can move her eyes
slightly—you noticed how her eyes turn ?—but
otherwise she is incapable of movement, and, of
course, she can’t articulate.’
He had taken his young relatives upstairs to
see his mother, and the picture of her, lying
almost in the attitude of a corpse on the bed,
with a uniformed nurse sitting motionless beside
her, had made a deep impression on Pauline and
Rosie. In fact, the whole house saddened them.
It was spacious and luxurious, but it was far from
reaching that standard of splendour which one
might reasonably expect from the I lam wealth.
I lam did not look like a wealthy man. He did
not talk like a wealthy man, and both girls began
to perceive, dimly, that wealth is useless to those
118
PROPOSAL OF JOSEPHUS 119
who have not sufficient imagination to employ it.

Certainly the City of Pleasure was an expression
of the Ilam riches, but they knew, as all the
world knew, that the imagination which had
brought into being the City of Pleasure was
Carpentaria’s. Hence, they felt sorry for Josephus
Ilam, partly because of the calamity to his mother,
and partly because of his forlorn and anxious air ;
they thought he wanted looking after, and that
this heavy pompous man was greatly to be pitied,
despite his opulence.
‘ You haven’t told us how it happened, what
caused it ?’ said Pauline sympathetically.
‘Oh!’ said Ilam, ‘as to that, who can tell?
Probably some fright, some shock. But we can’t
say. She was alone when it happened. And as
she can’t speak—can’t write—can’t-Well,
you see how it is.’
‘ We are sorry for you,’ murmured Rosie.
‘ And here I am, alone as it were,’ Ilam con¬
tinued. ‘ What am I to do ? What can a man
do by himself? I’ve got a nurse. I can get
fifty nurses, if necessary. And there are the
servants. But what are nurses and servants ?
You understand my position, don’t you?’
‘ Yes, quite,’ said Pauline.
They were partaking of a second tea in the
Ilam drawing-room. The appetite of Rosie for
cakes seemed unimpaired, though she did her
best to hide it, and to pretend that she was only

eating cakes out of politeness.
I lam swallowed his tea in great gulps.
‘ I’m utterly unnerved,’ he said.
‘ You must be,’ said Rosie kindly.
‘ There’s a vast amount of superintendence to
do in the City, as you may guess. But what am
I fit for, with my poor old mother lying up there ?
You can’t fancy what she was to me. I depended
on her for everything—everything.’
And then tears showed themselves in the little
eyes of Josephus 11am. The appearance of those
tears in the eyes of a great strong man made
Rosie feel very uncomfortable, so much so, that
she was obliged to look out of the window.
‘ I wish we could help you,’ said Pauline, after
a pause.
‘ We’d do anything we could,’ said Rosie.
I lam glanced up.
‘ You can do everything,’ he said. £ I hesitated
to ask you, but since you’ve mentioned it your¬
selves . . . and I’ll make it worth your while.
Rely on that.’
‘ But what ?’ demanded Pauline, startled, while
Rosie put down a fresh piece of cake which she
had just taken.
* Come and live here,’ said Ilam bluntly.
‘ Both of us ?’
‘ Both of you.’
1 We couldn’t do that, really,’ said Pauline.

‘No, of course not. But wouldn’t it be lovely?’
added Rosie.
‘Why couldn’t you?’ asked Ilam. ‘You are
your own mistresses, aren’t you ? What is there
to prevent you ?’
‘ Well, you see,’ said Pauline judicially, * we
have our living to get, and then there’s our flat,
and-’
‘ I don’t know how much you earn,’ Ilam cried.
‘ But I’ll cheerfully undertake to give you treble,
whatever it is.’
‘ That would be five hundred and forty-six
pounds a year, then,’ said Rosie, who was specially
good at arithmetic.
‘ Let us say six hundred,’ Ilam amended the
figure with a tremendously casual air.
The girls felt that, after all, perhaps he re¬
sembled a millionaire more than they had at first
thought.
‘ Come, now,’ Ilam urged. ‘ Say yes. It’s
an idea that came to me all of a sudden, while I
was talking to you. But it’s an idea that gets
better and better the more I think about it.’
‘ But we couldn’t give up our situations,’ ob¬
jected Pauline.
‘Why not?’ Ilam asked.
‘ I don’t know,’ Pauline stammered. * It seems
so queer. It’s so sudden. What would our duties
be here ?’
‘ Your duties would be to act as mistresses of

this house, and to look after my poor mother.
Of course, there’d be a nurse as well. I don’t
know how many servants there are—five or six.’
£ And we should have to manage everything ?’
said Pauline.
‘ Everything domestic. Come, you agree ?’
‘But suppose,’ interpolated Rosie—‘suppose
we—you—we didn’t suit you ?’
What she meant was ‘ Suppose you didn’t
suit us ?’
‘ Come a month on trial,’ said Ilam. ‘ At the
end of that time, if you want to leave, I’ll guaran¬
tee you a situation quite as good as you’re leaving.
I can’t say fairer than that, can I ?’
There was a pause ; the twins looked at each
other.
‘Just think how I’m fixed!’ pleaded Ilam.
‘ What do you say, Rosie ?’ Pauline asked
primly of her sister.
‘Well,’ answered Rosie, £ as cousin is in such
a dilemma, and poor Mrs. Ilam so—so ill, per¬
haps-’
‘Good!’ exclaimed Ilam; ‘you agree. Good!
I’m very much obliged to you. You’re two really
nice girls, and I can assure you you’ll have a free
hand here.’
‘You decide for us,’ said Pauline, smiling and
reddening under Ham’s appreciation.
‘We’ll begin at once, eh?’ said Ilam. ‘To¬

night.’
‘ Oh, that’s quite out of the question,’ objected
Rosie. ‘ We shall be obliged to give a month’s
notice at Shooter’s.’
‘ Nonsense !’ said Ilam. ‘ I’ll send ’em a cheque
for a month’s salary instead; then they can’t
grumble.’
‘ But to-morrow ? How will they manage
without us ?’ persisted Rosie.
Ilam laughed—and it was not often that Ilam
laughed. Either the humour of the thing must
have appealed to him very strongly, or it was a
symptom that his spirits had mightily improved.
‘ They’ll manage without you,’ he said.
‘ It’s true they can get substitutes from the
Typewriting Exchange,’ said Pauline.
Thus, it was arranged that Pauline and Rosie
should take one of the City automobiles to their
flat, and return with trunks and boxes during the
evening. Before leaving the bungalow Pauline
wrote to Shooter’s informing them of the blow that
had fallen on Shooter’s, and Ilam filled in a cheque,
and Rosie put it in the envelope and fastened the
envelope. The automobile, ordered by telephone,
came round to the door.
‘ You’ll introduce us to Mr. Carpentaria, won’t
you ?’ said Rosie smilingly, as she was getting
into the carriage.
I lam frowned, and then cleared his face.

‘ Do you want to know him ?’ he asked.
‘ Why, of course !’
‘ Very well, I suppose you must,’ Ilam agreed.
‘ Well, isn’t this the greatest fun ?’ Rosie
whispered to Pauline when they drove off. * We
can go where we like in the City. We can save
at least five hundred a year, and perhaps we shall
be his heiresses.’
‘ Hush !’ Pauline admonished her.
And three hours later those two extremely
practical twins were thoroughly installed in the
Ilam bungalow. They had the air of having
lived there all their lives as they chatted with
Ilam in the drawing-room. Ilam himself was
decidedly looking a little better.
4 I have been talking to nurse,’ said Pauline
importantly, ‘ and I shall sleep on the couch in
Mrs. Ilam’s room to-night. Nurse needs rest.
She says there is nothing to do, but some one
should be there.’
‘ I don’t want you to begin by tiring yourselves,’
said Ilam, ‘ but, of course-’
They heard a violent ring at the front-door, and
presently a servant entered. Ilam started.
‘ Mr. Carpentaria,’ said the servant.
Ilam turned pale.
‘Show him in,’ said Rosie calmly to the
servant.
‘ Yes, Miss Rose,’ said the servant, who, in

common with the other servants, had already
been clearly informed of the names, position, and
authority of the new-comers.
‘You are to introduce him to us, you know,’
Rosie murmured sweetly to I lam, ‘and I suppose
we shall have to play hostesses now.’
Carpentaria came in, evidently hot from his
concert.
‘ I say, I lam-’ he began.
Then he perceived the twins, and Ilam clumsily
performed the introductions. The girls were
enchanted with his uniform and with him. He
said little, and he was pale, but then he was so
distinguished; all his movements were distin¬
guished and magnificent.
‘We saw you this afternoon,’ Rosie ventured
timidly.
‘ And I didn’t see you ! The loss was mine,’ he
returned, gazing at Pauline.
Ilam had sunk back heavily into a chair. Car¬
pentaria caught sight of his face, and an awkward
silence followed.
‘ I came on a matter of business,’ Carpentaria
said to Ilam, ‘ but I won’t trouble you now ; it
will do to-morrow. Good-night.’
‘ We shall hope to see more of you,’ said Rosie
when Carpentaria had demonstrated that he really
meant to go.
‘Yes indeed,’ said Pauline very quietly, and the

visitor bowed.
And then Carpentaria, that glorious vision, had
vanished.
‘ Cousin’s nerves are simply all to pieces,’ com¬
mented Rosie, as the girls were going upstairs ;
‘ even a casual visitor upsets him. Did you notice
his face as soon as the bell rang ?’
‘ Yes, poor thing!’
‘ But Carpentaria is a dear!’ Rosie added.
Some time afterwards Pauline, in a dressing-
gown, came into Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom, and the
nurse left it. The chamber was large, with heavy
mahogany furniture and a large window ; a fire
burnt in the grate. Pauline stood over the bed
and smiled at her aged and stricken relative.
The old woman lay on her back, in a white night¬
gown and white nightcap, and her arms were
stretched straight downwards outside the quilt,
parallel with her body. She was dead, except for
her eyes, which burned brightly, and winked now
and then.
‘ Are you all right ?’ Pauline asked comfort¬
ingly.
The eyes flashed.
4 Cousin I lam says you like to be read to. Shall
I read to you before you go to sleep ?’
The eyes flashed.
4 Very well, then, I will.’
Pauline took a book from a pile of books which

lay on a chest of drawers. It was Frank R.
Stockton’s ‘ The Lady or the Tiger ?’ and, sitting-
down on the edge of the bed, her face turned
towards the fire, she began to read as follows :
£ In the very olden time there lived a semi-
barbaric King, whose ideas, though somewhat
polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of
distant Latin neighbours, were still large, florid,
and untrammelled, as became the half of him
which was barbaric.’
She stopped. The eyes were blinking rapidly;
then they blinked not quite so fast; then not
at all.
‘ You want me to read more slowly ? Very
well.’
She recommenced with great deliberation :
‘ In the very—olden—time-’
The eyes were blinking again furiously.
* What is it ?’ asked Pauline. ‘ What can
it be ?’
Tears stood in those black gleaming eyes, and
yet the face seemed annoyed rather than sorrow¬
ful ; and as the eyes stared fixedly at the ceiling
the horror of the mystery that surrounded Mrs.
I lam swept over Pauline like a wave.
‘ Have I got to spend the whole night with
those eyes ?’ she asked herself. ‘ What is it they
want to tell me ?’
CHAPTER XVI
THE BOX
Pauline had put the book down on the bed, and

was bending over the fire pulling the coals together
with the poker. She performed this homely,
natural, everyday action more to reassure herself,
to convince herself that she was in an everyday
world, than because the fire needed attention.
For the strange mystery of the speechless creature
on the bed, helpless as though bound with chains
and gagged by the devices of torturers, had seized
and terrified her. She held the poker in the air
and listened. Not a sound save the ticking of
the clock on the mantelpiece! From all the
sleeping house, not a sound. She might have
been alone with the living corpse in the house,
and yet she knew that Rosie, and Josephus Ilam,
and the nurse, and the half-dozen servants, were
in various rooms of it, perhaps sleeping, perhaps
trying to sleep.
There was a sudden sharp noise behind her,
near the bed.
128
THE BOX 129
She started violently and glanced round in fear.

It was merely the book—the harmless and amusing
‘ The Lady or the Tiger ?’—which had slipped
from the bed to the floor. Yet how could it have
slipped ? Had the paralytic, who was incapable of
the slightest movement, after all twitched a limb
and so shaken the book off the bed? Absurd. She
had merely placed the book too close to the edge
of the bed ; that was all. Nothing more natural,
nothing more probable. Her nervous fright was
grotesque.
She rose, picked up the book, and looked again
at her charge. The burning, blazing eyes were
still dropping tears, and the tears ran in a deep
furrow down either cheek. Softly Pauline wiped
them away, her own eyes moist. The tragedy
of the life’s end of this old, old woman, whom
every one had regarded as fierce and formidable,
rendered helpless in a moment by no one knew
what horrible visitation, chilled her heart’s core.
‘ What can she want ? What is troubling her ?’
thought Pauline frenziedly.
And then she imagined that perhaps she had
mistaken all the symptoms of those eyes, and
that Mrs. Ilam had wished her to continue to
read. She resumed the book, and read very
slowly in a fairly loud voice. And instantly the
eyes began to blink irregularly—fast, then slow
—and the eyeballs themselves moved slightly
9
from side to side. Obviously the patient was not

content.
Pauline put down the book again in despair.
The eyeballs still moved slightly to and fro.
‘ She wants something in the room. What
can it be ?’ said Pauline to herself. ‘ It may be
she is thirsty.’
She went to the night-table and poured a few
drops of water into the invalid’s cup, and brought
it near Mrs. Ilam’s lips. But the eyes seemed to
close as if in refusal, and the face, which could
only wear one expression—that of grief—to deepen
its inexpressible melancholy.
And then an idea occurred to Pauline, and
shone on her brow like a light.
c Listen,’ she said kindly to the aged woman.
£ I will ask you some questions. The answers
will be only yes or no. If you mean “ no ” try to
keep your eyelids still, but if you mean “ yes ”
blink them as much as you can. Do you under¬
stand ?’
The eyelids blinked ; and then they continued
their terrible entranced stare at a spot on the
ceiling exactly above their owner’s head.
‘ Good,’ said Pauline. ‘ Are you in pain ?’
No movement of the eyelids.
‘ Are you thirsty ?’
A slight flickering, which the patient clearly
endeavoured to suppress.
THE BOX 131
£ You want something ?’

The eyes blinked.
e Is it some person ?’
The eyelids were steady.
‘ Something in this room ?’
A violent blinking.
‘ Is it in a drawer ?’
The eyelids were steady.
‘ Then I can see it as I stand here ?’
The eyes blinked again. Pauline set the cup
down on the night-table, and gazed round the
room. She went to the mantelpiece, and gave a
list of the things on it: candlestick, clock, matches,
vases, keys, medicine-bottle, a piece of crotchet
work, a long knitting-needle, a picture post-card.
There was no response from the invalid.
c How foolish I am!’ murmured Pauline. c She
cannot possibly want any of these things.’ Then
she saw a few old letters half-hidden behind the
clock. ‘ Is it there ?’ she asked, holding the
letters near to Mrs. I lam.
But there was still no response. She put back
the letters and went to the ottoman, on which
was a large family Bible. But it was not the
Bible that Mrs. Ilam wanted, nor a spectacle
case that lay on the Bible. Then Pauline cata¬
logued one by one the contents of the dressing-
table, and then the contents of the washstand,
still with no result. At last, she came to a chest
9—2
of drawers, covered with a piece of white crewel-

work, and bearing some wax flowers, two small
vases, a black lacquered box, sundry folded linen,
several books, and a few faded photographs.
She described the photographs and the linen
and the books, as these seemed to be the most
likely objects, and then she came to the lacquered
box. And suddenly, the eyes began to blink
furiously.
‘ You want this box ?’
The eyes continued to blink.
She brought it to the bed. It was about eight
inches square and three inches in depth, and
beautifully inlaid with mother-of-pearl in a design
to resemble a bunch of roses—just such a little
cabinet as our'grandmothers valued, such as was
scorned as being Early Victorian during the
aesthetic movement of the eighties and nineties,
but such as we ourselves are beginning to recog¬
nize as beautiful. It had prominent brass hinges,
and a keyhole, and it was locked.
‘ Do you want me to open it ? It’s locked.’
The eyes were moderately still.
‘ Then you wish it put somewhere else ?’
They blinked.
‘In a drawer?’
No response.
‘ On the dressing-table ?’
No response.
THE BOX i33
‘ Near you ?’
The eyes blinked.
‘ On the bed ?’
No response.
c Under the bed?’
No response.
Pauline was at a loss.
‘ Under your pillow ?’ she hazarded at length.
The eyelids moved up and down, if not with
joy, at any rate with satisfaction.
And very carefully Pauline raised the pillow,
and Mrs. Ilam’s head, and slipped the box under¬
neath both the pillow and the bolster.
£ There ; is that right ?’
The tragic eyes blinked, and a slight sigh
emanated weakly from between those thin pale
lips. But, slight as it was, it seemed to have
come from the innermost depths of the stricken
woman’s being. It might have been a sigh to
indicate that her last wish was realized.
‘ I shall lie down now,’ said Pauline, and turn¬
ing out all the electric light except the tiny table
lamp on the table, she stretched herself on the
couch which stood at the foot of the great bed,
and she drew a rug over her and shut her eyes
and told herself that she must sleep. But she
could not sleep. Her brain was as busy as the
inside of a clock and electric lights seemed to
be burning and fizzing in it, extinguishing them-
selves and relighting themselves. What strange

house had she and Rosie wandered into ? What
was the hidden secret of this paralysis, and of
Josephus Ilam’s worn and worried mien, and of
the sudden arrival and equally sudden departure
of Carpentaria ? And, above all, what was the
meaning of the old woman’s desire for the box.
What was in the box ?
Do not imagine that Pauline regretted having
come. She did not. Except under the passing
influences of night and of the presence of illness,
she was not a bit superstitious ; nor was Rosie.
They were not afraid of mysteries. They were
intensely practical young women, incapable of
being frightened or repulsed by what they did
not understand. And that Pauline was a girl
entirely without the timidity of the doe, she
abundantly proved in the next few minutes.
As she lay on the couch she could see, without
moving her head, the French window. She
fancied that the heavy crimson curtain was some¬
what pulled aside in one place, at a height of
about four feet from the ground, and she fancied
that she could see the end of a finger on the
end of the curtain. ‘ No,’ she said to herself,
‘ this is ridiculous. There cannot possibly be
a finger there. I must not be silly,’ and she
resolutely shut her eyes. The next time she
opened them, the fire had blazed up a little and,
THE BOX *35
more than ever, the something on the edge of the

curtain resembled a finger.
Her little heart beating, but courageously, she
noiselessly rose up from the couch and approached
the window.
It was the end of a finger on the edge of the
curtain—a finger with a rounded and very white
finger-nail! Moreover, the curtain trembled
slightly, as it would do if held by some one who
was endeavouring not to move. Pauline remem¬
bered that the French window behind the curtain
had purposely been left slightly open, and that it
gave on to a balcony, as most of the windows of
the bungalow did.
She advanced resolutely, and drew aside the
curtain.
CHAPTER XVII
THE MAN ON THE BALCONY
A man was standing behind it. The French

window had been opened at least eight inches,
and the man stood partly in the aperture and
partly in the room. He did not flinch. He did
not even seem scared, nor yet disturbed. He
was a middle-aged man, with grey hair, and a
worn, rather sad face, and he wore a blue suit
of clothes, which showed earth-stains and other
evidences of an exciting and violent life. He
was, in fact, the man whom I lam had buried,
and who described himself to Carpentaria as Mr.
Jetsam.
‘ What are you doing here ?’ demanded Pauline,
in a low, brave voice. ‘ What do you want ?’
She mastered her fear, though her heart was
beating madly. She determined that, just as she
had proved equal to difficult situations in the past,
she would prove equal to this one.
‘ Now that you have seen me, I want to talk to
you,’ replied the man.
136
THE MAN ON THE BALCONY 137
‘ You climbed up by the balcony, didn’t you ?’

she asked.
‘Yes,’ said the intruder. * Nothing more
simple. I found a ladder.’
1 Then you had better go as you came—and
quickly !’ said the girl.
‘ And the alternative ?’
‘ Of course, I must call the master of the house.
In any event I shall do that.’
‘No,’ said Mr. Jetsam. ‘ For heaven’s sake
don’t call Jos.’
‘Jos!’ repeated Pauline, astounded at this
familiarity.
‘ I said “ Jos,” ’ the man insisted firmly. ‘ What
do you take me for ?’
‘ Naturally I take you for a burglar. What
else should you be ?’
‘Now, do I look like a burglar?’ Mr. Jetsam
asked severely. ‘ Examine me, and tell me
whether I look like a burglar.’
‘Whatever you are,’ said Pauline, in a tone of
decision, * I cannot remain talking to you like this.
I am in charge of an invalid here, and you must go.’
The man gazed at her fixedly. She thought
his eyes were very sad eyes, and yet dignified,
too. They reminded her of the eyes of Mrs.
Ilam. And presently, when they grew moist,
they reminded her even more of the eyes of
Mrs. Ilam.
138 the city of pleasure
‘ Miss Dartmouth,’ said the man, ‘ I can easily

prove to you that I am not a burglar.’
‘ Then you know me ?’
‘ I know of you. I know your name. I know
you by sight. I know that you and your sister
have come into this stricken and fatal house from
sheer goodness of heart.’
‘ Do not talk like that,’ said Pauline, whom any
praise, save of her personal appearance, made
extremely uncomfortable. She endeavoured to
make her voice cold, forbidding, and accusatory,
but she could not. The eyes of the grey-haired
man seemed to hypnotize her, to rob her of
initiative, and of the power to decide things for
herself.
I will talk in any manner you like,’ returned
Mr. Jetsam, ‘provided you will let me come
into the room and explain to you what I
want.’
‘ Impossible,’ she replied.
‘ Why impossible ? It is, on the contrary, per¬
fectly easy,’ said Mr. Jetsam. ‘All I have to do
is to close the window ’—and he closed it—‘ to
come into the room ’—and he came in—‘ and to
ask you to be good enough to listen.’
He put down his felt hat on a chair.
He now stood within the room, a couple of feet
from Pauline, in the direction of the bed, but with
his back to it.
Pauline, with a sudden sharp movement, darted

to the mantelpiece, by the side of which was the
bell-push. In the same instant he, too, darted
forward and clutched her wrist, just as she was
about to touch the bell. They held themselves
rigid for a moment, like statues.
‘ I understand your feelings,’ said Mr. Jetsam in
a shaken voice. ‘ I admire you. But before you
ring that bell, let me assure you most solemnly
that if you do ring it you will bring murder into
this house. You will utterly ruin one family, if
not two. Believe what I say ; you cannot help
but believe it. A man’s character for truthfulness
shows itself in every accent of his voice, and by
this time, you must be very well aware that when
I speak, I speak the truth.’
Pauline moved from the mantelpiece and he
loosed her arm.
‘ Well ?’ she said interrogatively.
She did not know it, but she was breathing
very rapidly through her nose, and her charming
nostrils were distended. Still, she probably
noticed the admiration in Mr. Jetsam’s glance.
‘ Miss Dartmouth,’ he began, and then
stopped.
Simultaneously they both thought of the invalid
stretched moveless on the bed, and Pauline bent
over that form. The eyes blinked irregularly, and
always they stared up at the same point of the
i4o THE CITY OF PLEASURE
ceiling. They were dry, but Pauline noticed

traces of tears on the rugged cheeks, and she
wiped them away—it was her mission.
‘Ah!’ she murmured. ‘You can’t advise me
what I ought to do.’
And then she faced Mr. Jetsam once more, still
standing by the bed. The table-lamp, with the
crimson silk shade, and the bright fire gave suffi¬
cient light.
‘ Miss Dartmouth,’ Mr. Jetsam recommenced,
‘a great crime was committed long ago in the
Ilam family, one of the most cruel crimes con¬
ceivable. It can never be atoned for in full, or
nearly in full : but, even now, after many, many
years, it can be partially atoned for.’
‘ Who committed this crime ? and what was it ?
Murder ?’ gasped Pauline in a breath.
‘ I cannot be sure who committed it,’ replied
the man ; ‘ and it was not murder. It was worse
than murder.’
‘How do you know it was worse than murder ?
How does it concern you ?’
‘ I was the victim,’ said the man quietly. And
then he raised his voice and repeated : ‘ I was the
victim. I am the victim.’
‘ Hush !’ she warned him. ‘ Not so loud.’
He turned to the bed with a strange expression
on his face.
‘ Why not so loud ?’ he demanded. ‘ She can
hear, even if we speak in a whisper. She has

heard everything, and she can do nothing.’
He spoke bitterly, and held a pointing finger at
the old woman. And her eyes remained ever
fixed, blinking irregularly, regardless of the two
beings near her.
‘ You are cruel,’ said Pauline. ‘ You torture her.’
‘ Far from being cruel,’ said Mr. Jetsam, ‘ I
am kind. Justice is always kind, for it alone
produces peace, and peace alone produces hap¬
piness.
You would not talk like that if you had ever
been happy,’ said Pauline.
* If I have not been happy, it is because justice
has been denied me. If this old woman and her
son have never been happy it is because they
have denied me justice. But justice may now be
done, and you yourself may be the first instrument
of it.’
* Tell me how,’ said Pauline.
‘ You will be the blind instrument,’ he said.
‘ Tell me how,’ Pauline repeated.
‘ I have been watching a long time at that

window,’ said the man, always with the utmost
respect—‘ and what I saw convinces me that you
know more of this affair than you care to seem to
know.’
* What do you mean ?’ demanded the girl
defiantly.
‘Well,’ said Mr. Jetsam, ‘Mrs. Ilam cannot

talk, cannot give instructions of any kind. Yet
I saw you take a particular box from off the
chest of drawers, and hide it under the invalid’s
pillow. In order to hide it, you actually dis¬
turbed the invalid. You lifted her head to
enable you to conceal the box in the bed beneath
it. That is strange, Miss Dartmouth. But I
have no desire to pry into your secrets. You
are a friend of the family, nay more, a relative,
and you had the right to do all that you have
done. But let me tell you at once that I have
come in search of precisely that box. I hoped
to get it while everybody was asleep ; but I
was prepared for emergencies. If your cousin
Ilam had been here in your place I should have
obtained possession of it without asking his
leave. But you—well, I humbly ask you to give
it to me.’
Pauline gazed at the poor organism on the
bed.
‘ Is he to have the box ?’ she asked. ‘ Is he to
have the box, Mrs. Ilam ?’
The staring, sad eyes did not move. There
was not the slightest flutter of the lids.
‘ Why do you put questions to her ?’ asked
Mr. Jetsam moodily.
‘ She means that you are not to have the box,’
said Pauline, and then she addressed Mrs. Ilam
anew. £ You mean that he is to go away without

the box ?’
The eyelids wavered and then blinked rapidly.
‘ That means “ Yes.” You must now go—at
once. I have listened to you too long,’ said
Pauline.
£ It is impossible that you should refuse me,
argued the man. £ Impossible ! I don’t suppose
that motion of the eyelids means anything, but
even if it did, naturally she does not want me to
have the box. Still, I must have it. Miss Dart¬
mouth, everything depends on my obtaining that
box. Its contents are essential to the bringing
about of justice. I entreat you most urgently and
most solemnly to give it to me. You cannot
doubt my sincerity.’
£ I will admit frankly,’ answered Pauline, ‘ that
I do not doubt your sincerity. But, all the same,
you cannot have that box—at least from my hands.
It belongs to Mrs. I lam ; she evidently treasures
it highly. I put it under her pillow to satisfy her.
Mrs. I lam is helpless, and I am in charge of her.
You must go, I repeat—and at once. We have
talked too much.’
£ Suppose I take it by force ?’ suggested the man.
‘You would never dare,’ said Pauline angrily,
and she rushed again to the bell. ‘ If you attempt
to take it I will ring the bell, and I will hold you
till some one comes, even if I die for it.’
‘ Mad creature 1’ he exclaimed acidly. ‘ I could

kill you. It is almost worth while; but I won’t.
You tell me to go, and I go; but my resources
are not yet exhausted. Good-night. I can’t leave
without expressing the opinion that you’ve got
both sense and grit, and plenty of both. But
you’ve made a mistake to-night. Good-bye.’
And while she stood with her hand on the bell-
push Mr. Jetsam passed very calmly out of the
window, and the curtain fell in front of him and
hid him.
It was the most curious adventure of Pauline’s
life, which, indeed, had hitherto been entirely free
from the unusual and the mysterious. After a
short period of hesitation she went to the window,
drew aside the curtain boldly, and looked out into
the night of the City. There was no sign of her
late visitor, but the ladder rested against the
balcony, a proof of his recent presence; other¬
wise, she might have persuaded herself that what
she had been through was a dream. She shut
the window and bolted it, and came back into the
room. The old woman, with her dark burning
eyes staring always at the same spot on the ceil¬
ing, seemed now somewhat easier. Pauline gazed
at her, and, after having stirred the fire, lay down
again on the couch.
And as she closed her eyes, the strange enigma
of Mrs. I lam and her son and the nocturnal
visitant filled her mind with distracting and futile

thoughts. Who was this grey-haired man, at
once so masterful, so dignified, and so desperate ?
What could be the justice that he demanded ?
what the contents of the lacquered box ? She
would have a real good talk with Rosie in the
morning. That prospect comforted her. Rosie
—Rosie Suddenly she started, and gradu¬
ally she perceived that she had been asleep a
long time—two hours, perhaps—and that some¬
thing, some presence, had wakened her. Look¬
ing round, she noticed that the door, which had
been closed, was now open.
She jumped up and went out of the room to
the passage, but she could neither see nor hear
anything. Then, as her eyes became accustomed
to the obscurity, she detected a very faint, thin
pencil of light at the other end of the passage,
and on approaching it she found that it came
from her sister’s room. She crept forward,
pushed open the door and went in. Rosie, fully
dressed, was sitting on a chair near the window,
which was not quite closed, and her face was hidden
in her hands, and she appeared to be crying.
* Rosie,’ exclaimed Pauline, ‘ whatever’s the
matter ? Why aren’t you in bed and asleep ?’
And Rosie subsided into her sister’s arms,
weeping violently.
‘ I haven’t been to bed at all,’ she said at last.
10
‘ I’ve never slept in a room with a balcony before,

and I couldn’t resist going out on to this balcony
to see how beautiful the night was. And I began
to think what a splendid time we were having,
and I watched the stars, and I heard the clock
strike in the tower over there, and the gardens
looked so beautiful in the starlight, and a long,
long time must have passed. And then I saw a
man standing under my window. He was a man
dressed in blue, with grey hair, and he began to
talk to me.’
‘ And why didn’t you tell him to go away, my
dear ?’
‘ He seemed so sad, and he said such interest¬
ing things. Pauline, darling, there’s something
very, very wrong in this house—some mystery !
He told me. No one could help believing what
he says, and he has such a beautiful voice. I
cried, almost, in listening to him.’
‘ But who was he ?’
‘ I think he must be some relative,’ said Rosie.
‘ I think so. He didn’t say. What he did say
was that there was a black box which it was
absolutely necessary he must have. Oh, Pauline,
I’m sure he isn’t a thief! He’s a man who has
suffered a great deal, and he asked me to get
the box for him, and his face was so sad—well,
I said I would. And he told me exactly where it
was.’
‘ Where did he say it was ?’

‘ He said it was under Mrs. Ilam’s pillow ; and
it was, true enough.’
‘ How do you know ?’ cried Pauline, aghast.
‘ I crept into your room, and lifted Mrs. Ilam’s
head, and took the box. You were fast asleep.
He asked me to see if you were asleep, and, if
you were, not to wake you. So I came as quietly
as a mouse.’
‘ And you obeyed him like that ?’ murmured
Pauline, astounded.
* I couldn’t help it. I felt so sorry for him.
And his voice was so-’
‘ Rosie!’ said Pauline. ‘ You used to be sensible
enough!’
‘ I couldn’t help it!’ moaned Rosie again.
10—2
CHAPTER XVIII
AN ARRANGEMENT FOR A MARRIAGE
Juliette D’Avray had a small sitting-room of

her own in the Carpentaria bungalow. It was on
the first floor, and it looked west, whereas Car¬
pentaria’s study and bedroom both looked north, on
the avenue. Three days after the affair of the
black box, Carpentaria ran hastily up the stairs of
his house and touched the knob of the door of
Juliette’s sitting-room, and then he drew back his
hand, nervous and hesitant. He was evidently
perturbed, and he pulled his fine beard in a series
of quick twitches, and then he rapped smartly on
the door and coughed.
‘Juliette!’ he cried. He was very much sur¬
prised to discover that he had not got complete
control of his voice. It broke in the middle of
his half-sister’s name. ‘ I must do better than
this,’ he thought, trying to command himself.
There was a pause.
‘ Juliette!’ he cried again, more firmly.
The word was scarcely out of his mouth when
148
ARRANGEMENT FOR A MARRIAGE 149
the door opened wide, and Juliette stood before

him. They gazed at each other for a fraction of
a second, as if inimically.
‘ Why don’t you come in, Carlos ?’ she mur¬
mured softly, and her eyes fell, ‘ instead of
knocking and making such a noise. What’s the
matter ?’
Carpentaria was certainly astonished at the
nature and tone of her remark. She seemed to
wish to run away. Then he gathered himself
together, with an immense show of force, as a
man will when confronted by a woman who is
helpless before him, but of whom he is afraid.
‘ I don’t want to come in,’ he said.
‘ Why ?’ she demanded.
‘ You know why,’ he said.
‘ Indeed I don’t,’ she asserted ; and she laughed
—a curt laugh.
‘ You promised me you wouldn’t see I lam again
at present,’ said Carpentaria stoutly.
Juliette tossed ever so little her charming head,
with its admirable coiffure.
* I did,’ she admitted.
‘ Well,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ he is at this moment
in the sitting-room.’
Juliette’s dainty nostrils began to dilate.
‘ Carlos,’ she said disdainfully, ‘ do you know
what you are saying? To me! Mr. Ilam is not
here. I have already asked you to come in !’
‘Yes/ said Carpentaria, ‘but you don’t make

way for me. You keep well in the doorway,
Juliette!’
She moved aside with a gesture of the finest
feminine scorn.
‘ Is there space for you to enter ?’ she said,
bitterly sarcastic.
Carpentaria stepped forward one pace. His
foot was on the door-mat.
‘ Stop a moment, Carlos/ she said warningly,
lifting her arm. ‘ I repeat that Mr. Ilam is not
here. I cannot imagine what put the idea into
your head. But whatever put it in, let me advise
you to put it out again at once. Under the cir¬
cumstances, if you come into this room, now that
I have distinctly told you that Mr. Ilam is not
here, it will be equivalent to calling me a liar. I
could not suffer that, even from you, Carlos. I
should leave you. We should quarrel for ever.
Think what you are doing.’
Tears stood in her eyes.
Carpentaria shuffled his feet in an agony of
uncertainty.
‘ Come in if you doubt me,’ Juliette continued.
‘ But if you do, it will be the end.’
Carpentaria turned slowly away, and passed
down the corridor.
* Of course I don’t doubt you,’ he called out.
Juliette made no response. She waited till her
half-brother had descended the stairs, then she

shut the door quietly, and ran to the Louis
Quinze sofa, with its gilded borders, that stood a
little way from the window.
‘You can come out,’ she whispered.
And from behind the sofa emerged the bulky
form of Josephus I lam.
‘ Great heavens !’ he muttered, searching in his
pocket for a handkerchief.
Juliette sat down on a chair and burst into
tears. The contrast between their two handker¬
chiefs — Ilam’s enormous, like himself, and
Juliette’s a fragment of lace no larger than a
piece of bread-and-butter—was one of those
trifles which put an edge of the comical on the
tragic stuff of life.
‘You are an astounding woman!’ exclaimed
Ilam, wiping his brow.
‘ I have lied to him—I have deceived him.
You heard what I said ?’ whimpered Juliette.
‘ You behaved superbly,’ said Ilam.
‘ I behaved shamefully,’ said the woman. ‘ But
I did it for you!’
And she looked at him over her handkerchief,
with wet eyelashes.
Ilam would have gone through unutterable
torture for her in that moment. It was a highly
strange thing—this late coming of love into the
existence of Josephus Ilam. It transformed him.
It made him feel that, at fifty, he was only just

beginning to grasp the meaning of life. It made
him see that hitherto his days and his years had
been wasted on vain things, and that the only
commodity really worth having in this world was
such a look as Juliette gave him out of her im¬
passioned eyes. He could not understand what
so bewitching and lively a woman as Juliette
could see in a heavy, gloomy fellow like him.
For the matter of that, probably no other person,
save only Juliette, could understand that mystery.
But then, when a woman loves a man, she sees
him in a radiance shed from her own soul, and it
changes him.
‘My poor friend,’ said Juliette, composing
herself, ‘ why do you put me in such an awkward
position, coming upstairs like this, and in the
middle of the day, too ? You must have bribed
one of the servants.’
‘ I did,’ said I lam.
‘Well, don’t tell me which,’ Juliette put in
quickly.
He bent down and kissed her. Yes, this heavy
and rather creaky person, who had laughed at
love for several decades, bent down and kissed a
pretty woman sitting on a Louis Quinze sofa;
moreover, he put his arms round her. He did
it clumsily, of course, but Juliette did not think so.
‘ I was obliged to see you,’ he told her. ‘ I
couldn’t do without seeing you. Why have you

so persistently kept out of my way. You were so
kind that morning—when Carpentaria surprised
you. Has he been bullying you ?’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Juliette, suddenly excited.
‘ I cannot tell you what he said to me. You
know I love him best in the world—next to—
you. But he said such things to me—such
things !’
‘ What ?’
‘He said—oh, my dearest!—he said his life
was not safe—he said no one’s life was safe in
this City—he said he had been shot at in the
bandstand ; and, you know, that business of the
milk was dreadful. The strange thing is that
Carlos won’t consult the police about it.’
‘ But how does this affect us—affect you and
me ?’ demanded Ilam bravely.
‘ Dearest,’ said Juliette, ‘poor Carlos thinks—
—he actually thinks-’
‘ That I am trying to kill him ?’
‘ He thinks you have something to do with it.’
‘ But why ? Why should I want to kill your
brother—your brother ?’
‘Yes, indeed!’ agreed Juliette. ‘And why
should you want to kill anybody’s brother?’ she
added.
‘Of course,’ he said hastily. ‘Why should I
want to kill any person at all ?’
‘ Carlos says that he is not the only person you

have tried to kill.’
‘ Ha! And who is the other? Give me the
full catalogue.’
‘ I don’t know. He says you have buried a
man in the grounds, and that he saw you do it.’
‘ Juliette !’ Ilam stepped backwards. Then
he stopped. * J uliette,’ he repeated, ‘ I swear to
you most solemnly that I have never tried to kill
anyone.’
‘ Dearest, you shouldn’t have said that!’ she
remonstrated. ‘You shouldn’t have sworn to
me. It is an insult to my love. Do you imagine
that I believed Carlos for a single instant ? Do
you imagine it ?’
She looked at him proudly, gloriously.
‘How splendid you are!’ muttered Josephus
Ilam, son of the soda-water manufacturer. The
admiration was drawn out of him. He had not
guessed that women could be so fine. And then
he perceived that he, too, must be splendid, that
he must be worthy of her ; and so he proceeded :
‘ Nevertheless, it is true that I did bury a man in
the grounds a few nights ago.’
The perspiration stood afresh on his brow as
he made the confession.
‘ You !’ she murmured.
‘ I thought he was dead,’ said Ilam, speaking
quickly. ‘ I thought I should be accused of his
ARRANGExMENT FOR A MARRIAGE 155
murder. And so I—the fact is, I was mad. I

was off my head. I must have been. Until
yesterday I actually fancied I was being haunted
by his ghost. Yes! me! me—thinking a thing
like that! But I did; and yesterday I was in
that big crush, during the shower, in the Court of
the Exposition Palace, and he, too, was in the
crowd. I saw him ; I touched him ; he didn’t see
me, thank Heaven ! Then I knew that what I
had buried was not a corpse.’
‘ Who is this man ?’ asked Juliette calmly.
‘ My angel,’ said Ilam, driven to poetry by the
stress of his emotion, ‘ you mustn’t inquire ; there
are some things I can’t tell you—at least, not yet.
When we are married, when matters are settled a
bit, I will tell you everything, but not now.’
‘ Why not now ?’ she persisted.
‘ Look here,’ he said, ‘ if you persist I shall
simply go and kill myself.’
She paused.
‘ My friend,’ she resumed, * you do not love me
as much as I love you. The measure of love is
trust, and you do not trust me completely.’
‘ I love you in my way,’ said Ilam doggedly ;
£ men are not like women.’
‘ That is true,’ she admitted philosophically.
‘ I would tell you everything if I was free to do
so,’ he said.
‘ Dearest ’—she addressed him in quite a new
i56 the city of pleasure
tone—‘ you know something about those attacks

on Carlos’ life.’
She spoke with an air of absolute certainty.
‘ I have had nothing to do with them,’ he said.
‘ But you know something about them.’
‘ Why do you think so ?’
‘ I can tell from your manner,’ she said
triumphantly.
‘ I know nothing for certain, nothing precise,’
said Ilam—‘ nothing that I can tell you—nothing
that I dare tell you.’
‘ Dearest,’ she remarked, with a faint acidity,
‘ it seems to me that you have come here to-day
in order not to tell me things.’
He deprecated her tone with an appealing
gesture.
‘ I can tell you, at any rate, this,’ he said, ‘ that
your brother’s life is no longer in danger—of that
I am sure.’
* You are atoning,’ she smiled.
‘ Which is more than can be said of my life,’
Ilam proceeded, not heeding her smile.
‘ Your life is in danger ?’ she questioned, rushing
to him as though she would protect him.
Ilam, without a word, led her to the window,
from the corner of which a glimpse of the avenue
could be caught, and walking to and fro there in
the avenue was the Soudanese.
‘You see that man?’ said Ilam. ‘It’s the
fellow they call “ Spats ” in the native village. I

don’t know why. He is devoted to me; he is
fully armed; he follows me everywhere. I have
only to blow this whistle’—and I lam produced a
whistle from his pocket.
‘ Darling ’—and Juliette clung to him—‘ is it so
bad as that ? Who is it that threatens you ?’
‘ The man that I buried,’ said Ilam quietly.
‘ But what are you going to do ?’
‘Well,’ said Ilam, ‘I’m come here to see you.
We must get your brother on our side.’
‘ I’ll force him to understand at once,’ cried
Juliette.
‘No,’ said Ilam, ‘perhaps you would fail, as
things are, but if you were my wife you would not
fail then. Carpentaria, once the thing was done,
would do everything in his power to protect your
husband ; he likes you well enough for that.
He might be angry at first, but he would see
reason.’
‘ Dearest, you want me to marry you secretly ?’
‘ I merely want you to go with me to the
registry office at Putney.’
‘ Is that what you came for ?’
‘ That is what I came for.’
‘ My love !’ she murmured.
Yet, with that cold and penetrating insight
which women have, she saw clearly that, though
Ilam’s idea of getting Carpentaria’s assistance in
a moment of grave danger was doubtless quite

serious, it was also somewhat fanciful, and that
Ilam’s professed reason for their instant marriage
was also fanciful, and was not a real reason, but
only an excuse. He merely wanted to marry her
at once, that was all, and although his life was
threatened, he thought little of that. She loved
him the more.
‘ I can make the arrangements pretty quick,’
said I lam. ‘ You will agree, my angel ?’
And she nodded, and the compact was
sealed.
They heard a scurrying in the passages of the
house.
‘Juliette! Juliette!’
It was Carpentaria’s voice, and other voices
mingled with it indistinctly—the voices of the
servants.
‘Yes!’ she answered loudly and, whispering to
I lam, ‘ Get out of the window ; whistle softly for
your Soudanese. You can get on to the roof of
the outhouse. He will help you.’
And noiselessly she opened the window, and
I lam, struck by her tremendous resourcefulness,
passed out. She heard his low whistle, and then
she ran to the door and into the passage.
‘ The house is on fire,’ said Carpentaria, meet¬
ing her.
‘ Is it ?’ she answered calmly. ‘ Are the firemen
come ? where’s the fire ?’—She sniffed—‘ Yes,’

she said, £ I can smell it.’
She was amazingly calm. c No woman with a
man concealed in her sitting-room,’ said Carpen¬
taria to himself, £ could behave so calmly upon
being informed that the house was on fire. Her
first thought would have been to secure the hidden
man’s safety.’ And Carpentaria ran downstairs
with a great show of activity. He was baffled,
disappointed, for he had deliberately set fire to his
own house in order to drive Ilam from the sitting-
room, where he felt sure Ilam was. And the
trick had failed. After all, he had been mistaken.
He had been convinced of his sister’s deception,
and lo ! she had not deceived him. Carpentaria
could have killed himself.
Happily the fire was of no importance, and it
was extinguished before it had done more than
about five pounds’ worth of damage and alarmed
more than about five thousand visitors to the
City.
CHAPTER XIX
THE HEART OF THE CITY
The situation of the heart of the City was one of

the secrets of the City. It was not located,
perhaps, exactly where you might have expected
it to be, and for a very good reason. The mag¬
nificent building which housed the managerial,
clerical, and inspectorial staff of the City was near
the south end of the Central Way. It comprised
four floors, and more than a hundred clerks spent
seven hours a day there. On the first floor was
the President’s Parlour, where I lam held consulta¬
tions with Carpentaria and with the heads of
departments, from the department of catering to
the department of road-cleaning. On the floor
above was the Manager’s and Musical Director’s
Parlour, where the august Carpentaria held con¬
sultations with I lam and with the heads of other
departments, from that of music, with its sub¬
sections (a) open-air bands, (6) theatre and other
bands, (^) restaurant bands, (d) vocal music,
(e) pianolas, gramophones, and mechanical orches-
160
THE HEART OF THE CITY 161
tras, to the procession and fetes department.

But the heart of the City was nowhere in this
building.
There were also scattered about the immense
grounds, various other executive buildings of a
smaller size, where sectional managers, viceroys
of Ilam and Carpentaria, held their mimic sway.
But the heart of the City was not in any of these,
either.
Very few persons, even among those on the
salary-list of the City, did know where the heart
was ; for it was not talked about. Talking about
it was discouraged; the hearts of such places are
never talked about. And it is a most singular
thing that visitors to the City scarcely gave a
thought to the question of the situation of the heart
of the City. The most interesting of all the
many secrets of the City seldom aroused public
curiosity, so strange is the public.
The heart of the City, as I propose to reveal,
was situated beneath the Storytellers’ Hall, near
the northern end of the Central Way, on your
left hand as you passed down from the north
entrance-gates. The Storytellers’ Hall was an
invention of Carpentaria’s — one of his best.
Between two o’clock and four, between five
o’clock and seven, and between half-past eight
and closing-time you could pay sixpence to go
into the Storytellers’ Hall and listen to a succes-
sion of American and Irish and English per¬

formers, whose sole business it was to sit in an
arm-chair on the diminutive stage and tell funny-
stories. The entertainment consisted in nothing
else. It was the simplest thing in the world, and
yet one of the completest successes of the City.
It was a success from the very first hour of its
existence. The little hall was nearly always
crowded, chiefly by men. One is bound to admit
that women were not enchanted by it; either they
laughed in the wrong places, or they turned to
their husbands, sweethearts, uncles, nephews, at
the end of the story, and asked if that really was
the end of the story, and, if it was, would their
husbands, sweethearts, uncles, nephews kindly
explain the joke to them.
Well, the heart of the City was beneath that
gay and mirthful structure. While storytellers
told stories above the level of the ground, the
most serious business of the City was being trans¬
acted a few feet away, below the level of the
ground. Let me explain.
Take an average intelligent visitor to the City.
He approaches, say, the northern entrance, and
among the twenty patent turnstiles which con¬
front him he chooses the nearest one that is
empty. He puts a shilling on the iron table of
the turnstile ; an official in the livery of the City
scrutinizes the coin to make sure that it is what it
pretends to be, and then pushes it down a little

hole. The shilling disappears—not only from the
sight, but from the thoughts of the visitor.
It is a highly remarkable fact—as he squeezes
through the turnstile he actually forgets all about
his shilling, forgets it for evermore !
Yet shillings are being poured in a continuous
stream into the mouth of that turnstile and into
the mouths of scores of similar turnstiles, all
day. What becomes of them ? Surely this ques¬
tion ought to interest the average intelligent
visitor! What becomes of them ? The turn¬
stiles won’t hold an unlimited number of shillings ;
nevertheless, shillings are falling into them eter¬
nally and they are never emptied ; they are never
even moved; they could not be moved, since they
are imbedded in concrete. Here is a puzzle for
the average intelligent visitor.
It will occur to anyone that when four hundred
thousand people have each paid a shilling entrance,
quite a nice little lot of money must have accumu¬
lated somewhere in the City by nightfall; for,
besides the entrance shillings, there is the vast
expenditure of the visitors after they have entered.
The nice little bit of money runs to the heart of
the City. That is what the heart of the City is
for ; that is why it is called the heart.
Now, the heart was a long, wide, and low
apartment, lighted by electricity, and lined with
11—2
concrete. In the centre, its top level with the

floor, was a huge safe, which by hydraulic power
could be raised till its top was nearly level with
the ceiling, and its doors bared to the persuasions
of keys. Round about were large wooden tables,
furnished with large and small balances, copper
scoops, bags, and steel coffers. A few chairs
completed the apparatus of the apartment.
The shillings of the clients of the City dropped
through the mouths of the turnstiles right down
to a small subterranean chamber, which could
only be reached from a tunnel beneath each
entrance. Thus, the officials in charge of the
turnstiles had no control whatever over the coins
once they had been slipped into the orifices. The
coins were checked and collected by an entirely
separate set of officials, who visited the under¬
ground chambers every three hours and brought
back the booty, enclosed in coffers, in specially
constructed insignificant-looking carriages, to the
solitary door of the heart. And the door of the
heart was by no means in the Central Way ; it
gave on a back entry running parallel to the Way
and just wide enough to permit the passage of one
carriage. The coffers were received, and receipted
for, by an official of the heart, and handed by him
into the interior. Neither he nor the collectors
were ever allowed to enter the heart.
On the evening of the day of the secret inter-
view between Juliette and I lam, the inconspicuous

door of the heart was guarded, not by its usual
official, but by a tall Soudanese, and waiting close
to him was an automobile with chauffeur on board.
The automobile was one of several employed
specially to transport the riches of the City to
the head offices of the London and West-End
Bank in King William Street. The journeys
were made at night, twice a week, and the offices
of the London and West-End were specially
opened to receive the coin. Automobiles laden
with vast wealth are less apt to be remarked
when they travel at night.
Within the heart itself were three people—
Ilam ; a middle-aged man named Gloucester, who
spent all his days in counting and weighing gold
and silver, and who was the presiding genius of
the heart; and, thirdly, a clerk from the London
and West-End Bank.
Gloucester was weighing sovereigns, the clerk
was counting coffers and piling them up in a
corner near the door, and Ilam was idly inspect¬
ing the doors of the huge safe, which had been
raised out of its well and stood open and empty.
During that day and the previous two days,
what with a monster Y.M.C.A. fete then in pro¬
gress, and what with the weather, over a million
shillings had been taken at the turnstiles. Now,
a new shilling weighs eighty-seven grains, and
about seven thousand average current shillings go

to the hundredweight. A million shillings, or
fifty thousand pounds in silver, will weigh, there¬
fore, something like seven tons. Nearly the
whole of this treasure had already started on its
way to the famous vaults of the London and West-
End Bank ; only a few coffers remained. But
there was, in addition, about ten thousand pounds
in gold, which weighed about a couple of hundred¬
weight, and it was chiefly for this gold that the
last automobile was waiting.
‘Seven coffers of silver, Mr. Gloucester,’ said
the clerk ; * two of gold.’
* I shall be ready with the others in a few
minutes,’ replied Mr. Gloucester.
* Then I’ll be making out the check-sheets,’
said the clerk.
‘ Do so,’ said Mr. Gloucester, who was a formal
old person, and wore steel-rimmed spectacles.
And he continued his weighing of the gold.
At this interesting and dazzling juncture, the
unique door of the apartment, an affair of solid
Bessemer steel, swung slowly on its hinges, and
disclosed the figure of a man in a blue suit, with
grey hair under his soft hat. Mr. Gloucester,
being just a little short-sighted and just a little
hard of hearing, neither saw nor heard the visitor.
Nor did Mr. I lam, who was actually within the
safe, measuring its shelves. But the bank-clerk,
who was quite close to the door, most decidedly

did see the man. And the clerk started, whether
with fear, surprise, or mere nervousness, will
probably never be known.
The man shut the door.
e What-’ began the clerk.
‘ Go to the other end of the room,’ said the
man commandingly.
‘Mr. Ilam!’ the clerk called out respectfully,
alarmed.
‘ Go to the other end of the room,’ repeated the
man.
The clerk perceived then that he had a revolver.
Mr. Gloucester also perceived the man and his
revolver, and Mr. Ilam came out of the safe
rather like a jack out of a box.
CHAPTER XX
WHAT JETSAM WANTED
‘ Hullo, Jos!’ said the intruder in a light, care¬

less and rather scornful tone.
It was a stroke of genius on his part to address
Mr. Ilam as ‘Jos.’ That curt and familiar mono¬
syllable, directed like a bullet at the formidable
Ilam, the august President of the City, made such
an impression upon both Mr. Gloucester and the
L. and W. E. Bank-clerk that they took no part
whatever in the immediately subsequent proceed¬
ings. They were astounded into silence. They
trembled lest lightning should descend and utterly
destroy the intruder.
And Ilam himself was plainly at a loss. He
was about to say to the intruder: ‘You have no
right to speak to me in such a way,’ and to order
him out of the place, when the ridiculousness of
protesting and the futility of ordering presented
themselves vividly to his mind.
Besides, there was the revolver.
168
WHAT JETSAM WANTED 169
So Mr. Ilam said merely, in a sort of pained

surprise :
‘ Jetsam!’
£ Exactly,’ said Jetsam.
And the imperturbable fellow, with his grey
hair and his shabby suit and his weary eyes,
nonchalantly sat down on the edge of one of the
counting-tables, his legs dangling, and his body
leaning forward.
The two employes were by this time convinced
that the new-comer must be either the Shah of
Persia in disguise, or else some extremely inti¬
mate and life-long friend of Ilam’s, perhaps richer
than Ilam himself. The bank-clerk knew by
sight several chairmen of banks who were quite as
badly dressed as the man on the table. Never¬
theless, they did not carry revolvers. The revolver
was certainly rather disquieting. However, they
bent to their work, as though both eyes of the
Recording Angel were upon them.
Ilam closed the door of the safe.
£ The doorkeeper let you pass ?’ he ventured.
‘ No, not at all,’ replied Jetsam.
‘ He isn’t at his post?’
‘ Not just at the moment. I’ve had him re¬
moved for a bit. He’ll doubtless return as soon
as I’ve gone. I thought it would be simpler to
have my own doorkeeper.’
‘ What did the Soudanese say, though ?’
‘ Which Soudanese ?’
‘ The Soudanese who is outside the door.’
‘ Oh, him ? He didn’t say anything.’
‘ This is a serious breach of rules for you to
be here, you know,’ said Ilam. ‘ And I must ask
you to go.’
‘ I really can’t go just yet,’ said Jetsam.
‘ What are you doing here ?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jetsam; ‘except nursing this
revolver. I’m going to do something soon.’
Both the bank-clerk and Mr. Gloucester looked
up. They even went so far as to glance at their
employer for instructions ; but their employer
seemed to avoid the eyes of the underlings.
Then Mr. Gloucester spoke in a low tone to the
clerk, and the clerk replied, and some bags of
gold were bundled into a coffer and the coffer
locked and double-locked, and the bank-clerk
murmured respectfully :
‘ These are the lot, sir. Shall I take them and
go ?’
‘Yes,’ said Ilam.
‘ Will you help me ?’ said the clerk to Mr.
Gloucester.
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Gloucester.
And Mr. Gloucester and the clerk each picked
up several coffers.
* Good-night, sir,’ said the clerk.
‘ Good-night,’ said Ilam.
‘ Stop that!’ Jetsam exclaimed, turning his head

slowly behind him to follow the movements of the
pair.
‘ I beg pardon ?’ murmured the clerk interroga¬
tively.
‘ I thought I told you to go to the other end of
the room,’ thundered Jetsam.
* But Mr. I lam-’
‘ Go to the other end of the room, up there at
that corner,’ Jetsam commanded sternly, adding,
‘or I’ll blow your idiotic brains out! Do you
hear ?’
The clerk was in love with a girl who lived
with her mother in a pretty little semi-detached
villa at Weybridge. He thought of her ; he
thought of all the evenings he had spent with
her ; he conjured her up in all her different
dresses ; he heard her voice in all its tones—and
all this in the fraction of a second. Then he put
down the boxes and discreetly betook himself to
the corner indicated by Mr. Jetsam, thinking
obscurely and slangily that to be a bank-clerk
was not all jam.
‘ And you, too !’ ordered Jetsam, raising a finger
to Mr. Gloucester.
Mr. Gloucester was not in love with a charming
young thing at Wey bridge. He never had been
in love; he had never lived with anyone except
himself and a bull-terrier; but he was fond of
playing chess at night at Simpson’s ; and he

suddenly saw Simpson’s and the chess-boards,
and the foamy quart, and the bull-terrier lying
under the table. Life and Simpson’s seemed
infinitely precious to him in those instants. And
he put down his boxes and followed the bank-
clerk to the suggested corner.
* I must really-’ he began protestingly.
e Silence!’ exploded Mr. Jetsam ; and there was
silence.
You must picture the large, low room, with its
concrete lining and its half-dozen sixteen candle-
power electric lights burning in the ceiling; and
underneath these lights the four men—I lam lean-
ing against the gigantic safe which rose out of the
floor in the middle of the apartment; Jetsam still
nonchalantly swinging his legs as he sat on the
table, facing him directly ; and the democracy,
somewhat scared and undecided, in a corner.
Jetsam had his back to the door, and since the
two piles of coffers were near the door they were
out of his field of vision.
Jetsam winked at I lam—deliberately winked at
him.
‘Simple as a, b, c, isn’t it?’ he pleasantly
remarked.
‘ What ?’ demanded I lam.
‘What I’m doing now—holding up a strong
room and its staff.’
‘You’ll suffer for this,’ said Ilam.

‘ That remains to be seen,’ was the reply.
‘ I gravely doubt if I shall suffer for it. Up to
now, what have I done ? I have asked those
gentlemen to go into a corner and not to indulge
in desultory and disturbing conversation ; and
they have been good enough to humour my
caprice; and I have winked at you, Jos. Is there
anything illegal in winking at you ? A few days
ago you did more than wink at me—you nearly
killed me!’
‘ I must go,’ said Ilam. ‘ I have an appoint¬
ment—I-’
He moved slightly.
‘ Let me advise you not to move,’ Jetsam
warned him, raising the revolver an inch or so.
‘ It mightn’t be very good for your constitution.
You must grasp the fact that you are being held
up. A worn-out operation, you will say—a trick
lacking in novelty ! Yes ; but one, nevertheless,
based on the fundamental human instincts, and
therefore pretty certain to succeed. Indeed, I
am surprised how simple it is. You might fancy
from my easy bearing that I had devoted a life¬
time to holding people up. Not in the least. I
have never held anyone up before. And yet, how
well I am succeeding ! The thing works like a
charm ; merely because you can see in my eye
that I mean to be obeyed.’
*I suppose you want money ?’ said I lam

savagely.
‘I don’t want impudence!’ retorted Jetsam.
‘ Apologize, if you please, my friend !’
£ What have I said ?’
‘ It isn’t what you said—it’s your manner of
saying it that was unworthy of you. You mean
to apologize for wounding my feelings, don’t you ?’
Jetsam smiled. £ No, don’t move; merely express
your regret/’
‘ I’m sorry,’ muttered I lam.
‘There—you see!’ cried Jetsam to the men in
the corner. ‘ Let that be a lesson to you. And
remember, that only great men like Mr. Ilam
have sufficient moral force, when they are in the
wrong, to admit the fact. Well, Jos, I accept
your apology in the cheerful and generous spirit
in which you offer it; and I shall not deny that
I do want money. That is part of what I came
for,’
£ How much do you want ?’ asked Ilam.
‘ Well,’ said Jetsam. ‘ How much have you got
handy ?’
Mr. Ilam intimated that there was a small sum
in gold.
£ A thousand in gold ?’ queried Jetsam.
Ilam nodded.
£ Probably more,’ Jetsam commented. £ But a
thousand will suffice me. If I need a fresh supply
I can always come again, can’t I ? And besides,

all that is yours is mine, eh ?’
Ilam maintained silence.
‘ Eh ?’ repeated Jetsam persuasively.
‘Yes,’ growled Ilam, and his eye caught the
eye of the young bank-clerk by pure accident.
At that moment the young bank-clerk, fired by
martial valour, a thirst for glory, and the thought
of what a splendid thrilling tale he would have to
tell to the charming young thing at Weybridge,
sprang furiously forward in the direction of Jetsam.
‘ Stop !’ said Jetsam, slipping off the table and
facing the youth, revolver ready.
The youth hesitated for the fifth of a second.
* No,’ said the youth, and came on.
Jetsam fired almost point-blank at the hero’s
face, and the hero started back and sank to the
ground. And there was a great hush in the room
and a smell of powder and a little smoke. The
youth lay still.
* Get up !’ said Jetsam fiercely. ‘ Get up, or I’ll
kick you up !’
And, strange to relate, the youth discovered the
whereabouts of his limbs and got up, and returned
to the corner.
‘ A singular example of what imagination will
do!’commented Jetsam. ‘The first chamber of
this revolver was loaded with blank. I expected
to have to use it for theatrical effect, to begin with,
and I was not wrong. Let me add that the other

five chambers are most carefully loaded, and that
I once earned my living in a music-hall by shooting
the pips out of cards with this revolver.’ He then
addressed Mr. Gloucester. ‘ Now, old man,’ he
said, ‘how much gold is there in one of those boxes?’
‘Two thousand five hundred!’ answered Mr.
Gloucester politely.
‘ And it weighs ?’
* About sixty pounds.’
‘It isn’t worth while breaking into it,’ said
Jetsam smoothly, looking at I lam. ‘ I’ll take the
lot. In our final settlement it shall be brought
into account.’ His glance shifted to Gloucester.
‘ Thank you,’ he added, ‘ for this information so
courteously given.’
‘ Perhaps you are satisfied now !’ said Ilam.
‘ Why don’t you go ? You think you won’t get
caught, but you will.’
‘ Surely, you won’t give me away, Jos !’ protested
Jetsam. ‘ I’m convinced you won’t; because, you
see, if you begin to talk about me I should probably
begin to talk about you, and think how dreadful
that would be.’
‘ Keep it up! Keep it up!’ said Ilam.
‘ Hence,’ Jetsam proceeded, ignoring the inter¬
ruption, ‘ I shall confidently rely on you to see
that these excellent gentlemen here in the corner
keep their elegant mouths shut. I shall rely on
you for that. You understand, gentlemen, Mr.

I lam wishes you not to prattle, even in the privacy
of your own homes.’
‘Are you going ?’ said I lam doggedly.
‘Yes,’ said Jetsam ; ‘ and so are you.’
‘ Me !’
4 Yes, you. The money is a mere incidental.
What I came for was your distinguished self.’
‘ I’m not coming with you. I haven’t the
slightest intention of coming with you.’
‘ You may not have much intention, but you are
coming,’ said the suave Jetsam. ‘ Besides, who is
going to carry this box outside for me ? I can’t
carry the box and a revolver, too. Obviously
Providence has designated precisely you to carry
this box. Come.’
‘Not I !’ Ilam defied him.
‘Come!’ repeated Jetsam. ‘I have a vehicle
awaiting outside, and we shall see what we shall
see.’
‘ No !’ insisted Ilam.
Mr. Jetsam advanced two paces.
‘ Listen !’ said he angrily and yet calmly. ‘ If
you don’t come, I’ll shoot you where you stand.
You ought to be able to perceive that I mean what
I say.’
Ilam’s reply was a mute surrender. He dropped
his eyes, and the next moment the two underlings
had the spectacle of the corpulent Mr. Ilam lifting
i;8 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
a sixty-pound weight and struggling with it to the

door, followed by the revolver and Mr. Jetsam
behind the revolver.
‘ Stop in the doorway a second,’ ordered Jetsam.
He addressed the clerks again. ‘If I were you,
I shouldn’t hurry out of here. You might catch
cold.’
And then they saw I lam disappear, the box in
his arms, and Mr. Jetsam follow him. Mr. Jetsam
closed the door. The clerks were alone.
‘ Well, of all the-!’ exclaimed the younger
man.
‘ I wonder how soon it will be safe for us to
leave !’ said Mr. Gloucester.
CHAPTER XXI
INTERRUPTING A CONCERT
That evening the nightly concert of the ! Car¬

pentaria Band ’ was held in the great court of the
Exposition Palace, partly because the weather
was threatening, and partly because the Y.M.C.A.
wished it so. The stalwart members of the
Y.M.C.A. were prominent and joyous, and they
pervaded the City to the number of some fifty
thousand. They were nearly all young, and they
were all, without exception, enthusiastic. They
had taken possession of practically the whole of
the tables on the three tiers of balconies that sur¬
rounded the court, and there was also a consider¬
able sprinkling of them on the ground floor.
They liked Carpentaria; they liked his music ;
they liked his way of conducting. They admired
him when he split the drums of their ears, and
they equally admired him when he wooed those
organs with a hint of sound that was something
less than a whisper. They violently cheered his
179 12—2
marches, and with the same violence they cheered

his serenades and his cradle-songs.
Consequently Carpentaria was content. He
was more than content—he glowed with pleasure.
He was the centre of the vast illuminated court,
with its ornate architecture, and its wonderful
roof, and its serried rows of lights. All eyes were
centred on him. He swayed not only his band,
but the multitude, by a single movement of the
slim baton—that magic bit of ivory which he held
in his hand. He said to himself that he had
never had a better, a more appreciative and
enthusiastic audience in the whole of his glorious
career. The result was, that he conducted in his
most variegated and polychromatic manner. He
did things with his wand that no conductor had
ever done with a wand before; he performed
gyrations, contortions, and acrobatics beyond all
his previous exploits. In a word, he surpassed
himself.
He was in the very act of surpassing himself,
in his renowned ‘ Cockney Serenade,’ when he
observed, out of the tail of his eye, a middle-aged
man, who was forcing his way at all costs across
the floor of the hall towards the bandstand.
When seven thousand people are packed on
chairs on a single floor, it is not the quietest task
in the world to penetrate through them. And the
middle-aged man was not doing it quietly, in fact,
INTERRUPTING A CONCERT 181
he was making decidedly more noise than the
‘ Cockney Serenade,’ and attracting quite as
much attention.
A number of ardently musical young men on
the grand balcony leaned over the wrought-iron
parapet and advised the middle-aged man to lie
down and die, in a manner unmistakably ferocious.
(It is extraordinary how ferocious a youth can
be on mere lemonade.) But the middle-aged man
continued his course, and he arrived at the band¬
stand, despite official and unofficial protests, simul¬
taneously with the conclusion of the serenade.
Gales of applause swept about the court, and
Carpentaria bowed, and bowed again—bowed
innumerably, all the time regarding the middle-
aged man with angry and suppressed curiosity.
The middle-aged man had lifted up a hand and
pulled the triangle-player by the belt of his
magnificent uniform, and the triangle-player had
bent down to speak to him.
‘ What is it ? What is it ?’ asked Carpentaria,
his nerves on edge.
‘ A person insists on speaking to you, sir,’ replied
the triangle-player.
‘ He cannot,’ snapped Carpentaria.
‘ He says he shall,’ said the triangle-player.
‘ I’ll-’ Carpentaria began an anathema, and
then stopped. He went to the rail of the band¬
stand and leaned over to the middle-aged man.
‘At your age,’ he said grimly, ‘you ought to

know better than to interrupt my concerts in this
way. Who are you ? What do you want ?’
‘ My name is Gloucester, sir,’ was the answer.
‘ Doubtless you recollect.’
‘ I do nothing of the kind,’ said Carpentaria.
‘ I’m in charge of the—er ’ Here Glouces¬
ter stood up on tiptoe in an endeavour to
whisper directly into Carpentaria’s ear—‘ the
strong-rooms.’
‘ Well,’ asked Carpentaria, * what do you
want ?’
‘ Been robbed, sir.’
‘Great Heavens, man!’ Carpentaria exploded.
‘You come to interrupt my concert because the
strong-rooms have been robbed !’
‘Two thousand five hundred pounds, sir.’
‘ I don’t care if it’s two thousand times two
thousand five hundred pounds. Go away ! Go
and worry Mr. I lam.’
‘ That’s just it, sir. Mr. Ilam has been taken,
too.’
By this time the multitudinous eyes of the
audience were fixed on Carpentaria and his inter¬
locutor, and everybody was sapiently saying to
everybody else that something extraordinary must
have occurred.
‘ What do you mean—Mr. Ilam been taken ?’
Carpentaria demanded.
‘ He’s been carried off—he carried the money

off—he was forced to, sir. Revolver, sir. Can’t
you come, sir ?’
‘ Can I come ? Ye gods ! Man, do you know
what a concert is ? Can I come ? Of course I
can’t come !’
‘ Mr. Ilam may be dead, sir.’
* We shall have leisure to bury him after the
concert,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ Go away. Go and
consult Lapping, head of the police department.
Or, rather, don’t. You’ll upset the audience
making your way out. Sit down. Sit right
down there, and don’t move. We’re going to
play my new arrangement of the “ Glory Song ”
with variations. You’ll see it will bring the house
down. It will be something you’ll remember as
long as you live.’
‘ But, sir,’ pleaded Mr. Gloucester pathetically.
‘Sit down—and listen,’ Carpentaria repeated
sternly.
He returned to the centre of his men. He
rapped the magic wand on his desk, and the next
moment the band had burst deliriously into the
now famous orchestral arrangement of the ‘ Glory
Song.’ The audience was thrilled by the waves
of sound that emanated from the instruments,
especially when the variations began. So the
entertainment continued, while Mr. Gloucester,
consuming his middle-aged impatience as best he
could, ruminated upon the strange caprices of

employers. He had been an employe all his
life; he had never commanded ; and his conclu¬
sion, at the age of fifty odd, was to the effect that
the nature of employers is incomprehensible, and
that you never know what they will do next.
‘ Excuse me, sir.’ He timidly touched Carpen¬
taria when the concert was over.
Carpentaria, it appeared, in the rush and fever
of the music, had forgotten all about him, and
was on the point of leaving the court deafened by
applause.
£ Ah, yes !’ said Carpentaria. ‘ That thief.
Two thousand five hundred pounds. And you
say that Mr. Ilam has been carried off. Tell me
all about that. Come this way. Come into the
street—it is always the most private place.’
And in the Central Way, near the fountain,
upon which coloured lights were reflected from
below, Mr. Gloucester related in detail to Car¬
pentaria the episode of the theft.
‘You say it was a man dressed in blue, with
grey hair ?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘ And there were three of you, including Mr.
Ilam, and you could not manage to disarm
him ?’
‘ It might have meant death for the first of us,
‘Well,’ said Carpentaria absently, ‘what if it did ?’

Mr. Gloucester grunted.
‘You said I was to consult Mr. Lapping, sir.
Shall we go there ?•
‘No,’ said Carpentaria, ‘not yet. I will look
into it myself first. The principal mystery is that
of the doorkeeper. What is his name ?’
‘ Wiggins.’
‘ And he has disappeared ?’
‘ He was not there when I left, sir. And he
could not have been there when the thief entered.’
‘ Why not ?’
‘ Because he would not have allowed the thief
to enter, sir. He has strict orders.’
‘ Humph ! Come along.’
They hastened up the Central Way, in a
northerly direction. The rain had kept off, and
the illuminations, which were superb, evidently
met with the ecstatic approval of the Y.M.C.A.
adherents, who paraded to and fro, and filled the
flying cars, with the hectic enjoyment of people
who feel that closing time is near. The progress
made by Carpentaria and his companion was
therefore not of the quickest.
‘ It’s more than an hour since,’ said Mr.
Gloucester, daring to show his discontent.
‘ What is ?’ asked Carpentaria.
‘ Since the crime occurred.’
‘ The fellow must have calculated on my con-
cert/ replied Carpentaria. ‘ He probably knew

that everybody in this City runs to me when the
slightest thing goes wrong.’
‘ The slightest thing!’ repeated Mr. Gloucester
bitterly—but not aloud, only in his secret soul.
They hurried round by the side of the Story¬
tellers’ Hall, and so to the passage at the back.
And standing at the entrance to the vaults,
underneath a solitary jet of electric light, was
Wiggins, the doorkeeper of the heart of the City.
He was a man aged about thirty-five, six feet
two high, and not quite so broad.
£ So you’re here !’ exclaimed Carpentaria.
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ Where have you been since—since Mr. Ilam
arrived here ?’
‘ I did what you told me, sir,’ said Wiggins,
with an air of independence. Wiggins was not
a Mr. Gloucester.
‘ What was that ?’ demanded Carpentaria
mystified.
‘ Why, your note, sir.’
‘ What note ?’
Wiggins pulled a crumpled paper from his
pocket and handed it to Carpentaria, who read :
‘Come to me in my office at once. If I am

not there, wait for me. The bearer will take
your duties meanwhile.
‘ C. Carpentaria.’
‘ Oh!’ said Carpentaria. ‘ And who brought

this ?’
‘ A Soudanese, sir.’
‘ Which Soudanese ?’
‘ I don’t know. They’re all alike to me.’
£ And it didn’t occur to you that this note was
forged ?’
‘ No, sir. Why should it ?’
* It didn’t occur to you,’ Carpentaria continued,
‘ that I was conducting my concert, and that
therefore I couldn’t possibly be in my office ?’
‘ I didn’t know anything about any concert, sir.
I’m doorkeeper here-’
‘ Not know about my concert!’ cried Carpen¬
taria. Then he calmed himself. ‘ Mr. Ilam
came before the Soudanese brought the note to
you ?’
‘Yes, sir, but only a few seconds before. He
had but just gone in when the Soudanese came.
I was talking to the driver of the motor-car as
was waiting, sir, here in front of the door.’
‘ Oh. So there was a motor-car ?’
‘ Yes, sir. It was one of the City cars. No. 28,
sir. To take the money away, sir.’
‘ Good. Who was the driver ? Do you know
his name ?’
‘ I think his name’s Pratt, sir.’
‘ Then you left immediately and went to my
office and waited for me, and then ?’
4 Then I got tired of waiting and I came back

here, sir.’
4 Good,’ said Carpentaria. 4 Mr. Gloucester,
the garage is indicated as our next resort.’
The immense garage of the City was close to
the northern entrance gates. And it, too, was
guarded by a doorkeeper, hidden in a little box
near the double-wooden doors.
£ I want to know if Car No. 28 has come in,’
said Carpentaria.
‘ Yes, sir,’ was the reply. 4 Came in twenty
minutes ago.’
4 Did you see it ?’
4 Yes, sir,’ said the doorkeeper.
4 Who was driving it ?’
4 I didn’t notice, sir.’
4 Show us the car, if you please.’
They passed into the desert expanse of the
garage, where a few men were cleaning cars,
Car No. 28 was in its place. In shape it was
rather like a police-van, but smaller. Carpentaria
noticed that its wheels were very dirty.
4 Open it,’ said he.
The key was found, and the interior of the car
exposed to the light of a lantern. And at the
extremity of the car could be seen a vague mass,
a collection of limbs and clothes on the floor.
4 Get in,’ said Carpentaria, 4 and see what
that is.’
The next moment two men were dragged out

of the car in a state of stupor. One was the
Soudanese entitled ‘ Spats,’ who had become
Ilam’s bodyguard, and the other wore the uniform
of an automobile driver.
‘ Who is this ?’ Carpentaria asked.
* It looks precious like Pratt, the man as
usually drives this car, sir,’ answered the door¬
keeper.
All the attendants in the place had now
gathered round.
CHAPTER XXII
CARPENTARIA AS DETECTIVE
‘You will now relate to me, as accurately as you

can,’ said Carpentaria somewhat peremptorily to
Pratt the chauffeur, ‘ exactly what were the cir¬
cumstances which led to your ceasing to be master
of your car.’
Carpentaria had had Pratt and the Soudanese
carried to the strong-room, the heart of the City,
where a chemist and Dr. Rivers had united to
treat them for the effects of the narcotic which
had evidently, by some means, been administered
to them. Rivers repeated that, so far as he could
judge, the narcotic employed was chloral hydrate,
a drug more powerful than morphine, more effec¬
tive in its action on the heart, and less annoying
to other functional parts of the body. When
Rivers and the chemist had finished their minis¬
trations, Carpentaria had politely intimated to them
that he did not absolutely insist on their remain¬
ing—a piece of information which surprised the
doctor, who, having been let into one of his
CARPENTARIA AS DETECTIVE 191
director’s secrets, expected, with the confidence

of youth, to be let into all of them. The three
men, two white and one Ethiop, were thus alone
together in the chamber.
‘Well, sir,’ said Pratt, who was a fair man,
talkative, with, just at present, a terrific sense of
his own importance as the central hero of a mys¬
terious drama. ‘ It was like this : After I’d had
the drink-’
* What drink ?’ demanded Carpentaria sharply.
‘ The drink the other driver offered to me,
• >
sir.
‘ What other driver ?’
‘ There came up another driver, sir.’
‘ In the City uniform ?’
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ Who was he ? What is his name ?’
‘ No idea, sir. I seemed to remember his face,
like, but I couldn’t recollect his name. I asked him
his name, and he said : “ Don’t try to be funny,
Pratt; you’ve had a drop too much.” ’
‘ And had you ?’
‘Not I, sir—of course I hadn’t. I’d made two
journeys to the Bank with full loads, and the next
one was to be the last, and-
‘ And you hadn’t had anything to drink at all ?’
‘ Nothing to speak of, sir. A glass of port at
Short’s as I was coming back the first time, and a
pint of beer—or it might have been a pint and a
i92 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
half—at the Redcliffe as I was coming back the

second time.’
‘ That was absolutely all ?’
‘Yes, sir, except a drop of whisky which was
left in my flask/
‘ But how came the other driver to be in a posi¬
tion to offer you drink. Was he carrying casks
and other things about with him ?’
‘ No, sir, only a flask. Every chauffeur has
a flask. Necessary, sir. Cold work, sir. And
you’ll recollect it hasn’t been exactly sultry
to-night.’
‘ What did he say ? Are you in the habit of
accepting drinks from men whose names you can’t
call to mind ?’
‘ He was in the profession, sir, and in the
uniform ; besides, he said he’d got a new cordial,
fresh from Madeira, that would keep anyone
warm, even in the depth of winter, for at least two
hours.’
‘ But this isn’t the depth of winter.’
‘No, sir; but, as the cordial was handy, I
thought I might as well try it.’
‘ And when you had tried it ?’
‘ I felt rather jolly, sir. I never felt better in
my life, and thinks I to myself: “I’d better write
down the name and address of this cordial before
I forget it.” So I says : “ What’s-your-name,” I
says, meaning the other driver, “ what’s the name
and address of this cordial, before I forget it ?”

And I was just taking a pencil out of my pocket
to write it down when I felt a bit less jolly and
the pencil wouldn’t stop in my hand.’
‘ You were on your driving seat ?’
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ And that is all you remember ?’
‘ Yes, sir. Except that once, dreamy like, I
thought I was in prison for exceeding the legal
limit, and that all the lights in the prison were
turned out, and an earthquake was going on.’
‘ The other driver stood in the road by the
car, eh ?’
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ How was he dressed V
‘ I’ve told you, sir. This uniform. Blue and
white cap, same as this, and long overcoat.’
‘ You couldn’t see what he wore underneath the
overcoat ?’
* No, sir.’
‘ And you ?’ Carpentaria turned swiftly on the
Soudanese. ‘ Did you drink too ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
Spats smiled.
‘ And after you had drunk ?’
Spats shook his head, still smiling.
‘ You remember nothing ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
‘ What ?’
13
£ He means he doesn’t remember anything,

Pratt explained.
‘You mean you remember nothing?’ Carpen¬
taria questioned.
‘ Yes, sah.’
‘ Why did you drink ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
The Soudanese looked at Pratt, smiling.
‘ Because Pratt drank ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
‘You have been waiting on Mr. Ilam lately,
haven’t you ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
‘ When he came to the outer door there, and
entered in here, did he tell you to wait outside ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
‘You can both go,' said Carpentaria. ‘Come
to me at eight o’clock to-morrow, Pratt, in case I
should want you.’
‘ Yes, sir,’ said Pratt.
‘ Yes, sah,’ said the Soudanese.
‘ No, not you,’ Carpentaria explained.
‘ Yes, sah.’
‘ One moment,’ said Carpentaria to the Ethio¬
pian. ‘ Did Mr. Ilam or any other person give
you a note to hand to the doorkeeper outside
there ?’
The Soudanese shook his fierce and yet amiable
head.
CARPENTARIA AS DETECTIVE i95
‘ What!’ cried Pratt, addressing him in surprise,
‘ didn’t you come up and give a note to Wiggins
and then go away again, and return a second
time ?’
The Soudanese shook his head once more.
‘ Then there must have been two of ’em, sir,’
said Pratt to Carpentaria. ‘ This chap’s honest
enough.’
‘ Me have brother,’ said the Soudanese, ‘ same
me.’
‘ Where is your brother ?’
The Soudanese shook his head.
£ In the native village ?’
‘ Yes, sah.’
* Go and fetch him,’ ordered Carpentaria.
And the next moment he was alone in the great
chamber, and he felt tempted simply to go to the
regular police, of whom a few were constantly
employed by the City, and tell them what had
happened, and leave the whole affair entirely in
their hands. And then the strange attraction
which always emanates from a mystery appealed
to him so strongly that he determined to probe a
little further into the peculiar matter of Ilam’s
disappearance, without the aid of professional
detectives. He didn’t imagine for an instant
that Ilam was dead. He was capable of believing
that Ilam had disappeared willingly ; and yet such
a theory, having regard to the recitals of Mr.
13—2
Gloucester and of the bank-clerk (by this time

doubtless on his way to Weybridge, and the young
thing) was to say the least exceedingly improb¬
able.
He unlocked the door and went outside.
Wiggins was at his post, actuated by the ex¬
aggerated alertness which characterizes one who
has been caught napping.
* Anything happened, Wiggins ?’
‘ No, sir. Nothing whatever.’
‘ I shall return soon. If the Soudanese comes,
keep him.’
‘ Yes, sir.’
He passed into the Central Way, which was
almost deserted. The last visitor, the very last
stalwart of the Y.M.C.A., had departed, and the
sole signs of life in the great thoroughfare were a
lamplighter extinguishing the gas-lamps which
were provided in case of a sudden failure of
electricity, and a road-sweeper in charge of a
complicated machine with two horses. The
clock in the tower of the Exposition Palace
showed half an hour after closing time. The
moon was peeping over the eastern roofs.
Carpentaria went to the garage, and, not with¬
out difficulty, for it was shut up, made his way
into the interior and procured some light. He
wished to make a thorough examination of the
car which had been employed as the instrument
of the plot. He had it drawn out to the centre

of the garage, under the full flare of an electric
chandelier. A sleepy attendant hovered in the
background.
* Get a ladder and see if there’s anything on the
roof of the van—any tyres or boxes or anything,’
said Carpentaria.
‘ There’s only this, sir,’ replied the attendant
when he had climbed up, and he produced a cap
and overcoat of the City uniform.
‘Well, I’m-!’ exclaimed Carpentaria, and a
notion struck him.
‘ Doorkeeper gone to bed ?’ he queried.
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ Wake him and tell him I want him.’
While waiting for the doorkeeper, Carpentaria
scrutinized attentively the wheels of the vehicle ;
those wheels, even on his first visit, had put an
idea into his head. Then the doorkeeper arrived,
not quite as spruce and perfect as a doorkeeper
ought to be.
‘No one can enter this garage except under
your observation ?’ Carpentaria asked him.
‘ No one,’ said the doorkeeper, positively.
‘ But you don’t keep such a careful eye on the
people who go out ?’
‘ Naturally not, sir. They can’t go out till
they’ve been in, and if they’ve been in they’re all
right.’
‘Just so. Now try to remember. Soon after

this car returned to the garage to-night, did any
one leave the garage who was unfamiliar to you ?’
* I don’t remember, sir. You see, sir-’
‘Exactly. I see. I am not blaming you. Your
theory, though defective, is a natural one. Now,
do you remember, for instance, a man in a blue
suit, with grey hair, going out ?’
‘ Upon my soul, I believe I do, sir.’
‘ You are certain ?’
‘ Oh. no, sir. I’m not certain. But I have a
sort of a hazy idea-’
‘ Look at these wheels,’ Carpentaria cut him
short. ‘ That’s clayey mud, isn’t it ?’
‘ Yes, sir.’
‘ Where could the car have been to get that ?’
‘ There’s that passage down under the embank¬
ment, sir, that way as leads to the river.’
‘ Doorkeeper,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ you are bril¬
liant. I also have thought of that spot, where
just such clay exists. But why should the car go
down there ?’
‘ Ah,’ said the doorkeeper. ‘ There you beat me,
sir.
* Then perhaps you are not so brilliant after
all,’ said Carpentaria.
And having minutely examined the interior of
the car, with no result, he left the garage, and
returned to the strong room.
The Soudanese was awaiting him at the door,

and there were evident signs of a quarrelsome
temper on the part of Wiggins, Wiggins had not
forgotten the colour of the messenger who had
handed him the forged note.
‘Well?’ Carpentaria asked of the Soudanese.
‘ Where’s your brother ?’
The man shook his head, but not smilingly.
‘Has he gone ?’
‘ Yes, sail.’
‘ No one knows at the village where he’s gone ?’
Spats shook his head.
‘Wiggins,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ Is this the man
who brought you the note ?’
Wiggins hesitated.
‘No, sir,’ he said at length, resentfully. ‘ But
they’re all alike, them folk are.’
‘H’m!’ murmured Carpentaria. ‘Since there
is nothing to guard here, you may as well go,
Wiggins. You, too, Spats.’
Two minutes later he was crossing the Oriental
Gardens in the direction of the Thames. And
when he had travelled two hundred yards or so
he heard footsteps behind him, light, rapid, irre¬
gular. He turned quickly, his hand on the re¬
volver in his pocket, to face his pursuer. His
pursuer, however, was Pauline Dartmouth and
no other. So he left the revolver where it was.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE TALK IN THE GARDEN
She was so out of breath that at first it seemed as

if she could not speak. He could hear her hurried
breathing, almost like the catch of a sob, and in
the moonlight he could see fairly clearly her
flushed face, under the hat, and her tall, rather
imperious figure. But he could not make out
the expression of her eyes. Nevertheless, as he
peered curiously into them, the thought suddenly
struck him : ‘ She is angry with me.’
‘ Mr. Carpentaria, I want to have a word with
you,’ she said at length, stiffly.
‘ My dear Miss Dartmouth,’ he answered in
his courtly and elaborate manner, ‘ I shall be de¬
lighted. What can I do for you ? I regret very
much that you should have had to run after me
like this.’
c I’ve been following you up for quite a long
time,’ she remarked, in a more friendly tone. It
appeared as if his attitude and greeting had made
some impression on her, in spite of herself.
200
THE TALK IN THE GARDEN 201
* First I went to your office. Then to the strong¬
rooms, then to the garage, then to the strong¬
rooms again, and now I’m here. I saw you
crossing the gardens. Nobody seemed to be
inclined to give me any information about you.’
£ No ?’ he murmured, in a cautious interrogative.
‘ Now tell me ; how can I be of service to you?’
She scanned his features. They were alone
together in the midst of the immense gardens.
A hundred yards away was the bandstand, the
scene of the greatest triumphs of his life. And
yet in that moment his triumphs seemed nothing
to him as he stood under her gaze. Her person¬
ality affected him powerfully. He said to himself
that no woman had ever looked at him like that.
There was no admiration in her glance, no preju¬
dice either for or against him; nothing but a
candid and judicial inquiry. ‘ I hope I shall come
well out of this scrutiny,’ his thoughts ran. And
the masculine desire formed obscurely in his breast
to make this girl think favourably of him, to make
her admire him, love him, worship him. He felt
that to see love in these calm courageous, inde¬
pendent eyes of hers would be a recompense and
a reward for all he had suffered in the forty years
of his existence. In a word she piqued him. He
little knew that up to that very evening she had
worshipped him afar off as women do worship
their heroes.
‘ Nobody ill, I hope,’ he ventured.
She ignored the observation, and said :
‘ Mr. Carpentaria, what have you done with
Cousin I lam?’
‘ What ?’ he cried, amazed both by the question,
and by the cold firmness with which it was
put.
* I think you heard what I said,’ she replied.
‘ What have you done with Cousin I lam ? Where
is he ?’
‘ Miss Dartmouth, do you imagine for one
instant that I know where Mr. I lam is ? I should
only like to know where he is. I’m looking for
him now. But I was not aware that the fact of
his disappearance was known. Indeed, I meant
it to be kept as secret as possible. I-’
‘ No, no,’ she interrupted him. ‘ I was hoping
you would be frank. I thought you had an
honest face, Mr. Carpentaria, and it is because of
that that I have come—like this. I have just left
your poor sister. She is in despair. She has
told me all.’
Carpentaria did not reply immediately. At
last he repeated :
‘Told you all? All what? You have soon
become fast friends, you and Juliette.’
‘It is possible,’ said Pauline drily. ‘ I have
met your sister three times, but in seasons of dis¬
tress we women are obliged to cling to each other.
As for Miss D’Avray and me, we live next door to

each other. What more natural than that I should
call on her this evening ? And finding her in a
condition of—shall I say ?—despair, what more
natural than that I should ask her what was the
matter, and what more natural, seeing that she
has no women friends here, and is of a nature
that demands sympathy, than that on the spur of
the moment she should confide in me ?’
£ I assure you, Miss Dartmouth,’ said Carpen¬
taria, £ that I was entirely unaware of my sister’s
despair—as you call it. What precisely has she
confided to you ?’
£ Why, about her engagement to Cousin Ilam,
and your opposition.’
‘ Pardon me, there has been no engagement,’
said Carpentaria.
£ Pardon me,’ said Pauline, £ there has been an
engagement, because my cousin and your half-
sister made it. Is there anybody better qualified
than them to make an engagement ?’
She lifted her chin.
‘ Well,’ said Carpentaria. £ Let us assume that
there was an engagement.’
‘ They were to be married to-morrow,’ remarked
Pauline calmly.
£ To-morrow!’ Carpentaria exclaimed, aghast.
* Secretly ?’
£ Why do you pretend to be surprised ? As for
the secrecy, your opposition has forced them to

secrecy, because your sister is afraid of you.’
‘ And now that your cousin has disappeared, of
course, they can’t be married to-morrow,’ mused
Carpentaria. * Hence this woe.’
‘ Why have you taken such extreme measures,
such cruel measures, such wicked measures ?’
asked Pauline, full of indignation. c I can under¬
stand well enough that you, as a great artist,
cannot be expected to behave like other people;
I can understand you doing mad things, original
things. I can understand you defying the law, and
taking the most serious risks on yourself. But I
can’t understand you being so cruel to your sister,
and so utterly beside yourself, as to carry off
Mr. I lam by force.’
Her cheeks had flushed.
‘ By force ?’ murmured Carpentaria.
Then he laughed loudly, violently, magnifi¬
cently, after his manner. His laugh resounded
through the deserted gardens.
‘Juliette thinks I have removed her betrothed
by force ?’ he queried.
‘Naturally she does!’ said Pauline. 'The
most extraordinary rumours are about. It is
even said that you have had a quarrel and killed
him.’
‘Tut-tut!’ said Carpentaria, and after clearing
his throat he proceeded : ‘Miss Dartmouth, will
you kindly fix your eyes on mine. I tell you

I have had nothing whatever to do with your
cousin’s disappearance, and that I was entirely
unaware of his intention to marry Juliette to¬
morrow.’
She gazed at him doubtfully.
‘ On your honour ?’
‘No,’ he said proudly, ‘not on my honour.
When I talk to a person as I am talking to you,
if I say a thing is so, it is so. I decline to back
my assertions with my honour.’
* I believe you,’ she whispered softly, and her
eyes fell.
‘ Thanks !’ he said. ‘ Will you shake hands ?’
And she gave him her hand loyally. And he
thought it was a very slim and thrilling hand to
shake.
‘ Do you know,’ he said, ‘ it was exceedingly
naughty of you to go and credit me with being
such a monster.’
‘ Well,’ she replied, ‘ perhaps I never did really
believe it.’ She smiled at him courageously.
* But I was angry with you for objecting to the
match. I suppose you won’t deny that you have
objected to the match.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘ I shan’t deny that.’
‘ And your reasons ?’
‘ I could not disclose them to Mr. Ilam’s
cousin,’ he answered. ‘And perhaps they are
not as strong as they were. I am beginning to
think that just as you accused me wrongly, so I
have accused your cousin wrongly. But I can
assure you I had better reason than you. Ah,
Miss Dartmouth,’ he added, ‘ it may well occur
that you will infinitely regret ever having come
into the City.’
‘ Never!’ she said positively.
‘ That’s very polite,’ he commented.
‘We are getting away from the point,’ she
remarked in a new tone. ‘ I have left your sister
in a pitiable state. If you have not had anything
to do with the disappearance of Cousin I lam,
who has ?’
‘ He may have disappeared voluntarily,’ said
Carpentaria.
‘Impossible!’ she replied.
‘I think so too.’ Carpentaria agreed. ‘At
first I was capable of believing that he had played
an enormous comedy in order to disappear in the
most effective manner. But really the comedy
grows too enormous to be any longer a comedy.
It may be a tragedy by this time.’
‘ And whom do you suspect ?’ queried Pauline
impatiently.
‘ If I were you,’ was Carpentaria’s strange
response, ‘ I should ask your sister, Miss Rosie.’
‘ Rosie!’
‘ Rosie.’
‘ Mr. Carpentaria; what on earth do you

mean ?’
£ I mean that your sister probably knows some¬
thing of the affair. Where is she at the present
moment ?’
‘She is watching Mrs. Ilam, in place of the
nurse.’
‘ I gravely doubt it,’ said Carpentaria with
firmness.
‘ But I have seen her there.’
‘ It is conceivable,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ But I
gravely doubt if she is still there.’
‘ I shall be compelled to think that after all you
are a little mad,’ Pauline observed coldly.
‘We are all more or less mad,’ said Carpen¬
taria. ‘ Otherwise your sister, for instance, would
not hold long conversations with a highly
suspicious character every night from the window
of her room.’
Pauline, in the light of her knowledge of what
had taken place in and about the Ilam bungalow
on the first night of her residence there, could
scarcely affect not to understand, at any rate
partially, Carpentaria’s allusion.
‘ I don’t quite-’ she began, lamely.
‘ Do you mean to say,’ he interrupted her at
once, ‘do you mean to say, dear lady, that you
are entirely unaware of the surreptitious visits of
a certain mysterious person to Mr. Ilam’s house ?’
‘ I am not entirely unaware of them,’ she said

frankly. ‘ I saw the man myself one night. I
spoke to him. My sister also—also spoke to him.
But I have not seen nor heard of him since.
Nor has Rosie.’
‘ Of that you are sure ?’
‘Yes, I think I may say I am sure.’
‘ Then I must undeceive you/ Carpentaria
spoke firmly. ‘ I also have acquired a certain
curiosity as to that strange individual. And to
satisfy my curiosity I have kept a considerable
number of vigils. And I am in a position to state
that, not only on the first night of your arrival,
but every night your sister has had speech with
that person from the window of her room.’
‘ Who is he ? What can he want ?’ demanded
Pauline, nervously.
* That is a question that I meant to put to
you,’ said Carpentaria in reply.
‘ As for me, I know nothing.’
‘ When you spoke to him, as you admit you did,
did he not ask you to do something ?’
‘Yes, and I refused his request.’
‘ But your sister ? What did she do ?’
‘ Oh! Mr. Carpentaria/ murmured Pauline,
‘ can I trust you ?’
‘You know that you can/
She related to him all the details of the episode
of the black box.
* And after that,’ Carpentaria commented, ‘ your

sister continues to have stolen interviews with
this man.’
‘ I can’t help thinking you are mistaken
Rosie would never keep such a secret from me.’
‘ It will be very easy to throw some light on
the matter,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ Le, us go to
your house and see whether Miss Rosie is in
Mrs. Ilam’s room as you imagine her to be, and
as I imagine her not to be. I may tell you quite
openly my opinion that Miss Rosie has had
something to do with the disappearance of Mr.
Ilam. I am convinced, indeed I know, that he
has been spirited away, together with a trifling
amount of money, by our mysterious visitor,
and since our mysterious visitor talks to Miss
Rosie each night, she on her balcony and he
beneath it—well, I leave the inference to your¬
self.’
Pauline started back.
‘Yes,’ she said, in a low voice, ‘let us go and
see.’
And they went, walking side by side in silence
across the gardens.
‘ I will wait here,’ said Carpentaria, when they
arrived at the side-door of the Ilam bungalow.
‘ You can ascertain whether anything unusual has
occurred in the house, and particularly if your
sister is still at her post, and then you will be
H
2io THE CITY OF PLEASURE
kind enough to come back and report to me. I

will watch here.’
Without replying Pauline passed into the house.
In a few minutes she returned. Tears stood in
her eyes.
‘Well?’ queried Carpentaria.
{Rosie is not in the house,’ she answered.
‘ Mrs. Ilam is alone. Happily she is asleep.
Everything is quiet. But Rosie-!’
A sob escaped her.
PART III
JETSAM
CHAPTER XXIV
THE BOAT
Carpentaria and Pauline continued to stand

motionless outside the house, both of them hesi¬
tant, recoiling before the circumstances which
faced them. The night remained clear, almost
brilliant.
‘The entire situation is changed/ said Car¬
pentaria at length. ‘ A new factor has entered
into it.’
* What factor ?’ Pauline demanded.
‘ Why, your sister, of course !’ he replied, with
a slight smile that disclosed momentarily the
quizzical male person in him. ‘ Consider how it
complicates the affair. If I had to deal only with
the mysterious individual with grey hair and a
blue suit—perhaps you do not know that he calls
himself Jetsam ?—I could go to work in a simple
211 14—2
masculine fashion, and in the end one of us would
suffer, probably he. But with a woman in the
case-’
‘ How can you be sure,’ Pauline interrupted
him, ‘ that Rosie is in the case ?’
‘ Can you doubt it ?’
‘ I cannot understand why she should behave so !’
‘ Perhaps she knew him before,’ Carpentaria
hazarded.
‘ Never,’ said Pauline positively—‘ never.’
‘ Then he has certainly been able to exercise
a most remarkable influence over her.’
‘Not a hypnotic influence, or anything of that
kind?’
‘ Perhaps an influence of quite another kind—
quite another kind.’
‘ But Rosie is scarcely half his age.’
‘ Do these things depend on age ?’ cried Carpen¬
taria. ‘ They depend on glances, sympathies, and
trifles even more subtle than sympathies. Besides,
she is more than half his age.’
* Oh,’ murmured Pauline, with a sudden wistful
appeal in her voice, ‘ I shall trust you to help me,
Mr. Carpentaria. Rosie may be in danger; she
may be doing something very foolish, mixing her¬
self up like this in the kidnapping of poor cousin
Ilam. What is to be done ?’
‘ She is decidedly doing something very foolish,’
said Carpentaria, ‘foolish, that is, from a mere
THE BOAT 213
ordinary common-sense point of view. But I don’t
think she is in any danger. I don’t think that
either she or you are the sort of woman that gets
into danger without very good cause. As to what
is to be done, I have an idea. Mrs. Ilam will be
all right alone ?’
‘Yes; for a few hours, at any rate.’
‘ Then will you come with me to the river ? I
have some investigations to make.’
‘ Certainly,’ said Pauline.
And as they crossed the Oriental Gardens for
the second time that night, he told her what he
knew about the use, or rather the abuse, of the
automobile.
The marble parapet of the immense terrace of
the gardens stood a dozen feet above the level of
high tide. The terrace was continuous from end
to end, but in several places it formed a viaduct
over paths that ran from the gardens at a steep
slope down to the bed of the river. It was one of
these paths, a specially clayey one, at the point
where it ran under the terrace, that Carpentaria
suspected the automobile of having taken. Assum¬
ing his suspicion to be correct, the automobile
could only have descended to the Thames, and
then, if the tide gave room, turned round and
returned ; or, if the tide did not give room, backed
out without turning.
‘ Its sole purpose,’ said Carpentaria, as they
talked the matter over, ‘ could have been to pass

something to a boat. Don’t you think so ?’
‘ Yes,’ Pauline agreed, and then she added,
‘ unless they merely wanted to throw something
into the river.’
‘ What!’ he cried ; ‘ a corpse ?’
‘ No,’ she said calmly. ‘ I was thinking of the
two thousand five hundred pounds in gold that
you told me had been stolen.’
He paused.
* This is really very clever of you,’ he said.
‘ But why should they throw it into the river.’
‘ Well,’ she said, ‘ it’s high tide, or rather it
was, about an hour and a half ago. They might
have sunk the money, intending to recover it
at their leisure during the night when the tide
sank.’
‘Yes, I must repeat,’ he said; ‘this is really
very clever of you.’
They were already beginning to descend the
broadest of the three paths which led from the
level of the gardens to the level of the river, and
the wheelmarks of an automobile were clearly
visible thereon, when Carpentaria halted.
‘ Suppose,’ he whispered, ‘ they are there now ?’
‘ Who ? Mr. Jetsam and my sister ?’
‘ No, not your sister. Mr. Jetsam and his—
other accomplices—whoever they may be. I do
not imagine that your sister has been concerned in
THE BOAT 215
the actual—er—affair. Indeed, she was at home

with you at the time. But if Jetsam, for instance,
should be down there now, alone or with others,
there might be a row on my appearance. I will
therefore ask you to stay where you are, Miss
Dartmouth.’
She shook her head.
‘ I have begun,’ she said, ‘ and I will go through
with it. Besides, what danger could there be?

People don’t go shooting and killing promiscuously
like that.’
‘ Oh, don’t they!’ Carpentaria exclaimed.
‘ Moreover, I have no fancy to be left alone
here now,’ she added. ‘And most likely there
isn’t anyone there at all.’
‘Hush!’ said Carpentaria. ‘Can’t you hear
the splash of an oar ? Listen !’
They listened.
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘And is not that the
noise of a boat crunching on the beach ?’
The path disappeared mysteriously before them
under the terrace; they could not see the end of
it. But the sound-waves came clearly enough
through the little tunnel.
‘ We will go back,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ and slip on
to the terrace. Behind the parapet we can see
anything that may happen to be going on. But
quietly, quietly, dear lady.’
In a few moments they were creeping across
the broad terrace. Simultaneously they bent

down, side by side, under the parapet and looked
between its squat, rounded pillars at the water
below.
Pauline gave a slight smothered cry, which
Carpentaria, with an imperious gesture, bade her
check.
‘ Not a word,’ he whispered in her air.
Rosie—Rosie and no other—was manoeuvring
a boat off the shore. Her face, her dress, her
hat, were plainly visible in the moonlight. She
stood up in the boat, and by means of a boat-hook
hooked to a large oblong stone, drew the boat to the
shore. She then seized the painter and jumped
lightly out. The curious thing was that she went
directly to the large oblong stone, and with a great
effort, lifted it up in her arms, tottered with it to
the boat, and deposited it therein. Carpentaria
perceived then that the stone was not a stone, but
one of the coffers in which was kept the gold of
the City of Pleasure. He perceived also that,
attached to the coffer, was a dozen feet or so of
rope with a cork float at the end. Rosie followed
the coffer into the boat, pushed off, and then, at a
distance of a few yards from the shore, pitched
the coffer into the river. This done, she landed,
made fast the painter of the boat to an iron ring in
the wall of the embankment and departed ; and
she did it all rather neatly.
THE BOAT 217
Immediately she had disappeared under the

terrace, Pauline cried, starting up :
£ I must go to her—I must ask her what she
means by doing such things.’
£ Pardon me,’ said Carpentaria ; ‘ you must do
nothing of the kind. I most seriously beg you
to do nothing of the kind. By interfering now
you may spoil the coup which we may ultimately
make.’
£ I don’t quite comprehend you,’ Pauline ob¬
served.
‘ Miss Dartmouth,’ he addressed her excitedly,
£ there can be no doubt in your mind now that your
sister is concerned in this plot, whatever it is. I
am perfectly convinced that her motives are good,
honourable, kind-hearted. But she is concerned
in it. We must, therefore, so far as we can, treat
her as one of the conspirators-’
£ But surely-’
‘Always with profound respect,’ said Carpen¬
taria. £ Had the person in the boat been any
other than your sister, should we have revealed
ourselves? Certainly not! We should have
followed the plot to its next development, with
this advantage—that we knew something which
the conspirators imagined to be a secret. The
fact that the person in the boat was your sister
must not alter our course of conduct. And per¬
mit to me add, Miss Dartmouth, that you first
approached me on behalf of my sister. We owe

something to her, do we not ?’
‘Yes,’ said Pauline in a low voice. ‘Then
what do you mean to do next ?’
‘ I suggest that we go back to your house, to
see whether your sister has returned. May I
ask whether, when you last spoke to her, she
gave you to understand that she meant to stay
with Mrs. Ilam ?’
Pauline breathed a reluctant affirmative.
‘ No hint that she was going out ?’
‘ None. And-’
‘ And what ?’
‘ Oh, dear!’ Pauline sighed. ‘ Must I tell you ?
Yes, I must! I’m sure Rosie is acting for the
best, but really it was not her turn to watch
Mrs. Ilam to-night.’
‘ Whose turn was it ?’
‘ The nurse’s.’
‘ And your sister changed the rotation ?’
‘Yes. She said the nurse needed a holiday,
and told her she could go away for twenty-four
hours, and that she would take her place.’
‘ What time was that ?’
‘ About six o’clock this evening, I think.’
‘ And where has the nurse gone ?’
‘ The nurse has gone to a concert at Queen’s
Hall, and will sleep at the house of some friends
at Islington.’
THE BOAT 219
‘ And does your sister imagine you to be in

bed ?’
‘ I expect so,’ said Pauline.
They slowly returned to the neighbourhood of
the bungalows. Carpentaria wanted to hurry,
but it seemed as though Pauline was being held
back by some occult force. As a matter of fact,
she dreaded the moment when she should re-enter
the house. But at length, they stood once again
by the doorstep of Josephus I lam.
‘ What am I to do ?’ Pauline demanded sadly.
‘ What do you think will be the best thing to do ?’
‘ We have not seen your sister in the gardens,’
said Carpentaria. ‘ She has most probably re¬
turned. She would not be likely to leave Mrs.
Ilam for very long, would she? Go and see if
she has returned, if she is in Mrs. Ilam’s room.
And if she is, question her.’
‘ But how ? What am I to say ? Am I to ask
her if she has been out ?’
‘ By no means!’ said Carpentaria promptly.
£ You are to pretend that you know nothing.
You must approach her diplomatically. Either
she will tell the truth or she will-’
‘ Lie ! Lie 1’ cried Pauline. ‘ Say it openly !
Say the word ! Admit that you are persuading me
to behave despicably to the creature who is dearest
to me in all the world.’
‘ If there is duplicity,’ Carpentaria answered,
2 20 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
‘ you, at any rate, did not begin it. We are con¬

vinced of your sister’s good intentions. What
else matters ? In a few days, perhaps to-morrow,
all will be explained. Let me entreat you to go
at once. I will await your report.’
She shook her head sadly, opened the door
with her latchkey, and was just about to shut it
when Carpentaria stopped her.
‘One moment,’ he said. ‘You have told me
your sister believes you to be in bed.’
* I say “ probably.” ’
‘It is important that she should not be un¬
deceived. I need not insist. You can easily
make it appear that, having been awakened by
some noise, you have got up. Eh ?’ And he
smiled.
She tried to smile in return, and disappeared
from his view. Within the house, she crept
upstairs, and into her bedroom, feeling like a
thief. When she emerged therefrom she had
put on a peignoir, and her coiffure was disarranged.
She went to the door of Mrs. Ilam’s room, and
listened intently. There was not a sound. If
she was to obey Carpentaria she must enter, and
she must wear a false mask to that sister to
whom she had all her life been as sincere as it is
possible for one human being to be to another.
Well, she could not enter—she could not enter !
Her legs would not carry her through the
THE BOAT 221
doorway. And so, instead of going in, she

called :
‘ Rosie!’
But her voice was so weak that she scarcely
even heard it herself.
No reply came from the interior. And she
called again, this time quite loudly :
‘ Rosie, dear !’
Then she opened the door an inch or two.
There was a rush of skirts across the room, and
Rosie appeared. She was evidently in a state of
extreme excitement.
* What’s the matter ? Are you ill ?’ asked
Rosie.
‘ I—I was wakened by some noise or other,’
said Pauline painfully, and it appeared to her
that Carpentaria was whispering in her ear the
words that she must say. ‘And—and—I—I
thought perhaps something had gone wrong here.’
‘ No,’ was Rosie’s reply. ‘ But how queer you
look, darling ! You must have had a nightmare.
You have quite startled me.’
Pauline did not answer at once.
‘You aren’t undressed. You haven’t lain
down,’ she said at length. * I thought you could
always sleep very well on that sofa.’
‘ So I can,’ said Rosie. ‘ But I’ve been reading.
And besides—it’s rather upsetting about Cousin
Ilam. I wonder where he can be.’
‘ Oh!’ Pauline remarked summarily, ‘ he’s

pretty certain to turn up to-morrow. I expect
he’s gone into town.’
Rosie yawned.
* Yes,’ she agreed.
‘ Well, good-night, darling,’ said Pauline, and
took Rosie’s hand.
‘ Good-night.’
‘ How cold your hand is!’ Pauline observed,
with an inward tremor. ‘ Have you been out ?’
‘ Been out ? What do you mean ?’
‘ Outside on to the balcony ?’
£ No. I haven’t stirred from my chair, darling.
Bye-bye.’
They stared at each other for an instant, each
full of dissimulation, and yet also of love, and
then they kissed one another passionately, and
Pauline departed. They were women.
CHAPTER XXV
A WHOLESALE DEPARTURE
Having retired to her bedroom and divested her¬

self of the deceitful peignoir, Pauline made her
way, with all the precautions of secrecy, down¬
stairs again, and so to the door which gave on the
avenue. Carpentaria was not in view when she
timorously put her head out of the door, and she
was in a mind to rush back to her sister in order
to confide in her absolutely, and to demand in
return her entire confidence. She allowed herself
to suspect for a brief instant that, after all, Car¬
pentaria had not been behaving openly with her ;
but just then the musician arrived — he had
evidently been watching the other side of the
house.
£ You were right,’ she whispered, before he had
time to ask a question.
‘ Your sister denies that she has been out ?’
Pauline nodded.
* Does this help us ?’ she inquired, as it were,
bitterly. ‘Are we any better off, now that I
223
have lied to Rosie, and forced Rosie to lie to

me ?’
‘ I think so,’ he said.
‘ I don’t,’ Pauline retorted. ‘ And I have
passed the most dreadful five minutes of all my
life.’
She seemed to be desolated, to be filled with
grief.
‘ I’m so sorry, so very sorry,’ he murmured.
‘No, no,’ she said quickly. ‘You have been
quite right. We find ourselves in the centre of a
mystery, and I have no excuse for being senti¬
mental. My trust in Rosie remains what it
always was. Still, facts are facts, and I am
ready to do whatever you instruct me to do.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘your sister must have had
some reason for insisting on watching Mrs. Ilam
out of her turn; and that reason is not con¬
nected with the little matter of the boat. If she
had merely wished to go unobserved to the boat
she would have gone to bed as usual and said
nothing, wouldn’t she ?’
Pauline nodded.
‘ It is obvious, therefore, that there is some¬
thing else to be done, or to occur—probably in
Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom. For if it is not to happen
in Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom, why should your sister
have voluntarily tied herself up there ?’
‘ But what could possibly happen in Mrs.
A WHOLESALE DEPARTURE 225
Ilam’s bedroom ?’ demanded Pauline, with a

nervous start of apprehension.
‘ How do I know ?’ Carpentaria replied. ‘ I
can only point to certain indications, which lead
to certain conclusions. You will oblige me by
watching, Miss Dartmouth.’
‘ Where ?’
The landing and the stairs of your house. Is
there a view of the stairs from your room ?’
£ Yes,’ said Pauline.
‘ Then you can watch from there. Do not
burn a light.’
c And if anything strange does occur ?’
‘ Go to your balcony, and tie a white handker¬
chief to the railings.’
£ And you ?’ queried Pauline.
At that moment there was the sound of a
window opening in Carpentaria’s bungalow across
the avenue, and a voice called plaintively :
‘ Carlos, is that you ?’
£ It is I,’ he answered, as low as he could.
£ Go to her. Comfort her,’ Pauline enjoined
him.
£ I am coming to you,’ he obediently called in
the direction of the window.
Both of them could see the vague figure of
Juliette, framed in the window.
‘ Poor thing !’ murmured Pauline.
‘ Afterwards,’ said Carpentaria hurriedly, £ I
15
shall come out again and watch the outside of

your house. With you inside and me outside, it
will be very difficult for anything peculiar to
occur without our knowledge.’
And he left her, impressed by her common
sense and her self-control, and withal her utter
womanliness.
The hall of his own house was dark, and all the
rooms of the ground-floor deserted. He mounted
to the upper story. Juliette, hearing his footsteps,
had come to the door of the study, from whose
window she had hailed him, and she stared at him
with a fixed and almost stony gaze as he ap¬
proached. Her figure was silhouetted against
the electric light in the study.
‘ Turn that light out instantly,’ he said, with
involuntary sternness.
She did not move, and, obsessed by the impor¬
tance of giving to anyone who might be spying
the impression that all the occupants of the house
had retired for the night, he pushed past her and
turned off the switch.
‘Oh, Carlos,’ Juliette sighed, ‘how cruel you
are !’
He now saw her indistinctly in the deep gloom
of the chamber, and her form seemed pathetic
to him, and her sad, despairing voice even more
pathetic. He went up to her impulsively and
took her hand.
‘ Juliette,’ he said, ‘ can you believe it of me ?’

‘ Miss Dartmouth has spoken to you ?’ she
asked, a glimmer of hope in her tone.
‘ Yes,’ he said. ‘Can you believe that I have
—have caused anything to be done to Ilam?’
‘ Have you not ?’ she demanded eagerly.
And he told her what he had previously told
Pauline.
She thanked him with an affectionate kiss.
‘ Carlos,’ she said, and the words fell in a little
torrent from her mouth, ‘ I told you a falsehood
this morning. I acted a part. He was in my
sitting-room all the time. Can you forgive me ?’
* I was sure of it,’ said Carpentaria calmly, ‘and
I can forgive you,’ he added.
* You do not know what it is to love,’ she said.
‘You have never cared for anyone—in that way.
I hadn’t—until I met-’
‘ Who says I don’t know what it is to love!’ he
stopped her. ‘ Perhaps I am learning. But tell
me, when did you last see Ilam ? Have you seen
him since this morning ?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘ Where ?’
‘At his offices this evening.’
‘ He gave no hint that he was in any danger?’
‘ No immediate danger. Oh, Carlos, he is not
what you think him to be. He is an honest
man, and I am so sorry for him, and I love
15—2
him. Where is he? What has happened to

him ?’
‘ I can’t tell you now,’ was Carpentaria’s reply,
* but before morning we shall know more, or I am
mistaken.’
* It is for the crimes of others that he is suffer¬
ing,’ said Juliette.
* He told you so ?’
‘ No, but I guess ; I am sure. I know all his
faults—all of them. I do not hide one of them
from myself. Why should I, since he loves me
and I love him ?’
‘ My child,’ said Carpentaria abruptly, ‘ you
might have trusted me more.’
* I should have trusted you absolutely,’ answered
Juliette, ‘ but he is afraid of you. He would not
let me. I could not disobey him. Sometime,
somehow, you must have said something to
frighten him and, though he is so big and strong,
he is timid ; he has timid eyes. It was because
of his eyes that I first began to like him. Carlos,
what are you going to do ?’
* I am going to watch,’ was the response.
‘ A man came to the back-door not long since,
and asked whether you were at home.’
‘ A man came to the back-door ?’ repeated Car¬
pentaria sharply, every nerve suddenly on the
strain. ‘ Who was it ? What did you say to
him ?’
‘ At first I thought it was one of the night-staff,

and then the man’s face made me suspicious; I
imagined it might be a thief—you know what a
state I am in, Carlos—and so I told him you had
just gone to bed, and I shut the door in his face.
I didn’t want him to think there were only
women in the house. But, of course, it couldn’t
have been a burglar—here ’
‘ That is the wisest thing you have done this
day, Juliette,’ Carpentaria remarked; and then
he questioned her as to the appearance of the
mysterious inquirer.
‘Are you going to leave me?’ cried Juliette,
when Carpentaria picked up his hat, which had
fallen from a chair to the floor.
‘ Yes,’ he said ; ‘ you must try to rest.’
And then they were both startled by a strange
noise on the window-pane. They listened. The
noise was repeated.
‘ Is it rain ?’ asked Juliette.
‘ No,’ said Carpentaria, ‘it’s gravel.’
He went out on to the balcony. A form was
discernible in the avenue below.
‘ Is that you, Miss Dartmouth ?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ came the reply. ‘ I-’
‘ Hush !’ he warned her. ‘ I’ll be with you in a
second.’
With a brief explanation to Juliette, he
hastened downstairs and let himself out of
the house. Pauline was already standing at

the door.
‘ Anything happened ?’ he questioned her.
‘ Nothing has happened/ said Pauline, ‘ but
there is something extremely curious, all the same,
in our house. It is a most singular thing that the
housemaid, who never forgets anything, forgot
just to-night to leave some milk in my room—a
thing which I had specially reminded her to
remember, so I rang the bell for her. There is
a bell that communicates direct with her room
—it used to be in Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom, but
we have had it changed—there was no answer. I
rang again. No answer. You know, I’m the
sort of person that can’t stand that sort of thing
from servants, so I went upstairs to her. She
was not in her room. There are two beds in that
room, the second one for the cook. Both beds
were empty; they had neither of them been slept
in. I went into the rooms of the other servants.
They are all empty. Rosie and I and Mrs. Ilam
are alone in the house.’
Carpentaria paused.
‘ Did you tell your sister ?’
‘ No, I came straight here.’
‘That was very discreet of you,’ said Carpentaria.
‘ I am beginning to get frightened,’ Pauline
added. ‘ What can it mean ? All the servants
gone-’
CHAPTER XXVI
THE EMPTY BEDROOM
Within the bungalow of the Ilams there remained

only two persons who were legally entitled to be
there, and those persons were Mrs. Ilam, motion¬
less for ever, but with her bright, tragic eyes staring
continually at the same point in the ceiling, and
Rosie Dartmouth. These two women, however,
were decidedly not alone in the house. It was a
large house, a bungalow more by the character of
its architecture and its many balconies, than by its
size and shape. Most bungalows are long and
low ; this one was long without being low. On
the ground floor were the reception rooms and
kitchen offices ; on the first floor were the principal
bedrooms ; and above these was a low-ceiled floor
of servants’ bedrooms. Nor was that all ; for the
steeply-sloping roof had been utilized by an archi¬
tect who hated to waste space as a miser hates to
waste money, and hence, above even the servants’
floor was a vast attic, serviceable for storage. The
attic was reached by a little flight of stairs of its
231
own, and it was lighted by two panes of glass let

into the roof, one on either side.
The ground-floor and the servants’ floor were
now dark and uninhabited. On the first floor the
only occupied room was the bedchamber of Mrs.
Ilam, where Rosie stood nervously by the mantel¬
piece in an attitude of uneasy expectation. The
sole illumination was given by the small rose-
shaded lamp, which threw a circle of light on the
white cloth of the invalid’s night-table ; all else,
including Rosie, was in gloom.
Rosie was evidently listening—the door was
ajar—and after a few moments she stepped hastily
outside on to the landing, and glanced up the
well of the staircase. At the summit of the stair¬
case she saw the door of the great attic open, and
a figure emerge ; the figure, which was carrying a
small electric lantern, carefully locked the door of
the attic behind it, and then, with some delibera¬
tion, descended the narrow attic stairs, and, more
quietly, the stairs from the servants’ floor to the
first floor.
The figure was that of Mr. Jetsam, clothed in
his eternal suit of blue serge.
The stairs and landing were quite dark, save for
his lantern and the faint glimmer that came from
Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom. Mr. Jetsam had moved
without a sound, for he was wearing thick felt
slippers. He did not immediately notice Rosie
THE EMPTY BEDROOM 233
on the landing, and when the light of his lantern
caught and showed her dress, he started back
slightly. Rose made no move.
‘ I did not expect you to be there,’ he whis¬
pered.
She regarded him with steady eyes, and then,
without a word, motioned him to proceed further
downstairs to the ground-floor.
c You want to talk to me ?’ he whispered again.
He had a voice which was curiously capable
of being almost inaudible, and yet at the same
time distinct.
She nodded.
He pointed to the open door of Mrs. Ilam’s
room, but Rosie shook her head.
‘ Why not ?’ he demanded.
She shook her head once more, and they went
downstairs to the dining-room, both silently
creeping. With infinite precautions he opened
the dining-room door, and shut it when they had
entered.
‘ It would have been better to remain upstairs,’
he said mildly. ‘ The least possible movement is
dangerous enough. At this stage a creaking stair
might spoil the whole business.’
‘ I cannot talk there,’ she said.
‘ But, since Mrs. Ilam is utterly helpless,’ he
protested, ‘ what can it matter what she hears ?
She cannot talk.’
‘ The fact that she hears is more than enough

to upset me,’ said Rosie. c I am like that, you see.
I know it is silly, but I can’t help it. I wanted to
tell you that I have just had a dreadful scene with
Pauline.’
‘A dreadful scene! You’ve not quarrelled?’
he demanded anxiously.
‘Oh, no! But I’ve lied to her—I’ve lied to
her in the most shocking way, and, what is worse,
I fancy she didn’t quite believe me.’
‘ She suspects something ?’
His tone sounded apprehensive in the gloom.
‘I don’t know; I hope not. In any case,
what can she suspect ? She’s been in bed all
the time.’
‘True,’ said Mr. Jetsam reflectively. ‘True!
You have behaved magnificently, Miss Rosie.
Never, never, in this world, shall I be able to
thank you. I had not thought that such a woman
as you existed. You have given me the first
sympathy I have ever had. Yes, the first!—
without you I could never have succeeded. I
could scarcely have begun. And now I shall
succeed. Listen to me—I shall succeed ! A wrong
will be righted. Justice will be done. If it isn’t,
I shall kill myself.’
He finished grimly, as it were, ferociously.
‘ Don’t say that,’ pleaded Rosie.
He laughed. Then he lifted the little lantern
and threw its ray on her face. She did not

flinch.
‘ You are very pale,’ he remarked softly.
‘What do you expect?’she answered. ‘You
have gone much further—very much further than
I ever dreamt of. You have led me on.’
‘ No,’ he said, ‘ it is your own kindness of heart,
your sympathy with the unfortunate that has led
you on. I assure you I was never so bold before
I met you, before I appealed to you that night
when you stood on your balcony. Do you regret ?
If you tell me to stop, to abandon my plans and
depart—well, I will depart.’
She smiled sadly.
‘ I do not want you to do that,’ she said.
‘Nevertheless, I tremble for what you have
done.’
‘ Do not tremble,’ he said coaxingly. ‘ If I am
not safe here, where am I safe ? Is not this the
very last place where anyone would expect to find
me and my—my booty ?’
‘ But, then, sending the servants away,’ she
exclaimed.
‘ Nothing simpler,’ he commented.
‘ I don’t know how I did it,’ she mused, as if
aghast at the memory of what she had achieved ;
‘ and as for to-morrow, how I shall explain it to
Pauline I really can’t imagine !’
‘ To-morrow,’ he said, ‘everything will be over
one way or the other ; you will be able to

resume your habit of speaking the truth. By
the way,’ he went on, in a tone carefully care¬
less, ‘ you managed to do what I asked you with
the boat ?’
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘ Did you meet anyone ?’
‘ Not a soul.’
‘ And you pulled the plug out and cut the boat
adrift ?’
‘ Pulled the plug out and cut the boat adrift!’
she repeated after him, amazed. ‘ No ; you never
told me to do that!’
‘ Pardon me,’ he said, ‘ that was the most
important thing of all. It is essential that there
should be no trace of the boat.’
* I didn’t understand,’ she faltered. ‘ I’m so
sorry. I never heard-’
‘ I regret I didn’t make myself more clear,’ he
remarked. ‘ You see, at intervals during the
night the watchmen do their patrols, and I know
there is a regular inspection of the terrace.
Supposing the boat is seen ?’
‘ I really don’t remember that you asked me to
do that,’ she persisted.
4 Anyhow,’ he said politely, ‘ what you have
done deserves all my praise and gratitude.
But-’
‘You would like me to go and sink the boat,
wouldn’t you ?’
41 hesitate to ask you. It is really too
much-’
‘ Yes, yes,’ she said passionately. ‘ I will go
and do it—alone.’ Then she paused. ‘ But
suppose I meet the patrol ?’
‘You are you,’was Jetsam’s response. ‘You
are the President’s cousin. You have the rigfht to
amuse yourself with a boat, at no matter what hour
of the day or night.’
‘Just so,’ she admitted. ‘I will go now. I
shall be back quite soon. Shall you be ready by
the time I return ?’
‘ Yes,’ he said.
‘ Everything is all right ?’ She seemed to
question him anxiously.
‘ Quite all right,’ he said. ‘ Let me thank you
again.’
With an impulsive movement he took her hand
and kissed it. She blushed and trembled. Then
he opened the door and they passed out into the
hall.
‘ I will unfasten the front-door for you,’ he
whispered. ‘ I think I can do it more quietly
than you. it may be left on the latch till you
come back and he unfastened the front-door.
Through its panes a faint light entered the hall.
‘ I must get my hat,’ she said.
They went upstairs.
‘I’ll leave you,’ he whispered. ‘You can
manage ?’
She nodded. He put the light on a bracket

on the landing and ascended to the upper parts
of the house. Rosie went into her bedroom.
When she came out, wearing a hat, she noticed
for the first time that the door of Pauline’s bed¬
room was not shut. She pushed it open very
carefully, and peered in. A feeble reflection of
the moonlight redeemed it from absolute ob¬
scurity, and Rosie perceived that the bed was
unoccupied, that it had not even been slept in.
Instantly her mind became full of suspicions.
Had Pauline lied to her as she had lied to
Pauline? Was her part in the plot of Mr. Jet¬
sam discovered? No, impossible! And yet—
Then she recollected having heard, or having
thought that she had heard, the distant ringing
of one of the service-bells in the house some
time before Mr. Jetsam came downstairs. She
had forgotten to mention this disturbing fact to
Mr. Jetsam. Evidently he had not heard the
ringing, or he would have questioned her about
it. Supposing they were being watched, after
all ? And in any case where was Pauline ?
Pauline had given her to understand that she
had retired to rest, and lo ! the bed had not been
touched! Full of tremors, she silently shut the
door on the empty room.
She remembed Jetsam’s threat of what he should
do if his plans failed, and she hesitated.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE PHOTOGRAPH
Mr. Jetsam, having with an attentive ear heard

the vague sound of the shutting of a door, came
out a second time from the mysterious attic and
descended the stairs. He was a man to omit no
precautions, and every door that he passed he
locked on the outside, not only on the servants’
floor, but on the first floor. He penetrated then
to the ground-floor, and fastened not merely every
door, but every window. At last he arrived at the
front door.
‘ It’s a pity to lock her out,’ he murmured to him¬
self ; ‘but what can I do ? It would be madness
to let her assist at the scene I have to go through.
She expects to, but I must disappoint her.’
And he noiselessly bolted and locked the front
door.
The fact was that Mr. Jetsam’s plans had been
slightly deranged. He had hoped to get through
his great scene—the scene to which all his efforts
had tended—during Rosie’s first absence on the
239
river. He relied on Rosie ; he had been amazed

at her goodness and her fortitude ; he had been still
more amazed at his singular influence over her ;
and he naturally told her a great deal. But he
did not tell her quite everything. He feared to
frighten her. Hence proceeded one of his reasons
for sending her to the boat, with the object of
sinking the coffer further in the river as the tide
fell. But she had dispatched the business with
such extraordinary celerity, and he, on his part,
had been so hindered by such an unexpected con¬
tretemps, that she was back again before even
he had begun.
Thus, he had been obliged to invent a new
errand for her, and he flattered himself that he
had invented the errand, and dispatched her on
it, with a certain histrionic skill—and he had the
right so to flatter himself. It desolated him to
deceive her, to hoodwink her; but he saw no
alternative.
Having secured the house, he ascended again,
this time taking less care to maintain an absolute
silence, to the first floor. The affair was fully
launched now, and no one could, interrupt him.
If Pauline awoke in her locked bedroom and
heard things, so much the worse for her, he re¬
flected. She could not go out on to her balcony
because he had seen long ago to the fastening of
the window. Therefore she might cry as much
THE PHOTOGRAPH 241
as she liked. He laughed as he thought of this,

not having the least idea that he had so elabo¬
rately fastened the door and the window of an
empty room.
He went into Mrs. Ham’s bedroom with a slight
swagger, and shut the door. A fire was burning
in the grate. He cast a single glance at the bed
and its mute and helpless occupant, and putting
his little lantern on the mantelpiece, he walked
round the room, inspecting its arrangement and
its corners. Then, suddenly remembering his
own burglarious exploit of forcing an entrance
into the room by the window, he approached the
window, flung it wide open and stepped outside
on to the balcony. Far across the expanse of the
Oriental Gardens, in the moonlight, he discerned
a figure vaguely moving in the direction of the
river. It was a woman’s figure.
‘ There she is,’ he murmured. * Admirable
creature! Why did I not meet such a woman
when I was younger ?’
Then he came in again, shut and fastened the
window, and drew the heavy curtains across it,
taking care that no chink was left through which
light could be seen. Then he began to whistle
softly, and he turned on all the electricity in the
apartment; there were a cluster of lamps in the
ceiling, and two lights over the dressing-table,
besides the table-lamps, and his own trifling
16
gleam of a lantern. The room was brilliantly,

almost blindingly, lit, and every object stood
revealed.
He stepped towards the bed, and deliberately
gazed into the eyes of the stricken old woman.
Mrs. Ilam’s burning orbs blinked at intervals.
Otherwise she gave no sign of volition or of life.
Jetsam placed his eyes in the fixed line of her
gaze, so that they were obliged to exchange a
glance. She appeared to be unconscious of it.
Only a scarcely perceptible tremulation ran along
her arms, which lay stretched, as usual, outside
the coverlet, like the arms of a corpse.
‘Well,’ said Jetsam, ‘here I am at last, you
see. Do you recognize me ? I’ve changed,
haven’t I, old hag ? But you can’t be mistaken
in me.’
The pent-up bitterness of a lifetime escaped
from him in the tones of his voice. But the old
woman showed no symptom that the terrible past
was thus revisiting her in its most awful form.
‘ You thought I was dead, didn’t you ?’ Jetsam
continued. ‘ For over forty years you have been
sure that I was dead, and that your crime was one
of the thousands of crimes which go unpunished.
And look here,’ he went on ; ‘ if you have any
doubt, murderess, as to my identity, look at this.
I’ll make you look at it, by heaven!’
He bent down, drew up the trouser of his left
THE PHOTOGRAPH 243
leg to the knee, and pushed the sock into his

boot, so that the calf of the leg was exposed. On
the fleshy part of the calf could be plainly seen
a large birth-stain. With the movement of an
acrobat he raised that'leg over the bed, over the
eyes of Mrs. I lam, and held it there during several
seconds. Then he dropped it.
‘ There !’ he exclaimed. * That’s to show you
who it is you have to deal with.’
His voice was cruel, icy, and inexorable. He
had no pity, no trace of mercy, for the woman
who, whatever the enormity of her sins, was
entitled to some respect by reason of her extreme
age, her absolutely defenceless condition, and her
suffering.
‘They tell me you can answer “yes” or
“ no,” ’ he said, * by your eyelids. Blinking
means “yes,” and no movement means “no.”
I am going to put some questions to you. Did
you take the photograph out of the box ?
Answer.’
Mrs. I lam closed her eyes and kept them
closed.
‘What does that mean?’ Jetsam grumbled.
‘ Open your eyes again, murderess.’
But Mrs. I lam did not open her eyes again.
She obstinately kept them closed; and she
might have been asleep, except that now and
then a tear exuded from under the lids.
16—2
‘ I’ll make you open them,’ cried Jetsam.

His hand approached the old woman’s eyes, but
even his implacable and cruel bitterness recoiled
from the coward villainy of touching that stricken
and helpless organism. He drew back his hand,
and some glimmering sense of the dreadfulness
of the scene which he was acting reached his
heart. The thought ran through his brain that
it was a good thing Rosie had not been
present.
* Very well,’ he said, * as you like. Only I know
that you, or one of you, must have taken that
photograph out of the box, and I have every
reason to believe that it is in this room. In any
case I mean to know very shortly whether it is or
not.’
So saying, he went abruptly out of the room,
shutting the door, and climbed once more to the
attic.
‘ Jake !’ he called quietly.
And a Soudanese, the brother of Ilam’s pro¬
tector, 4 Spats,’ obediently appeared.
‘I am ready,’ said Jetsam. 4 Come, pass in
front of me. I will lock the door myself.’
They went together to Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom.
‘You know how to search, Jake?’ Jetsam in¬
structed him. 4 Everything in this room has to be
searched to find a photograph—a photograph, you
know—the same sort of thing as this.’ And he
THE PHOTOGRAPH 245
pointed to a portrait of Josephus Ham that stood
on the mantelpiece.
The Soudanese nodded.
‘ Begin with the chest of drawers,’ he said.
In a quarter of an hour the room was in such
a state of havoc as might have resulted from the
passage through it of a cyclone. Every drawer
in every piece of furniture had been ransacked
and emptied. The Soudanese had even climbed
on a chair in order to inspect the top of the ward¬
robe, and had dislodged therefrom a pile of card¬
board boxes. Every book had been torn to
pieces. Piles of letters lay scattered about. The
floor was heaped up with Mrs. Ilam’s private
possessions. Chairs were overturned. One or
two vases with narrow necks and wide bases had
been smashed in order the better to search their
interiors. The place was wrecked. But the
mysterious photograph which Jetsam wanted had
not been discovered. The Soudanese had found
dozens of photographs, but not the right one.
The bed of the invalid was alone undisturbed.
Among all the ruins of the chamber it remained
untouched, white, apparently inviolate, and the
old woman’s arms lay ever in the same position,
and her eyes, open and blazing now, gazed ever
at the same spot in the ceiling.
‘ I have it!’ exclaimed Jetsam suddenly. ‘ The
bed—the bed ! The box was hidden under the
bed, but I got it. The photograph is hidden under

the bed, and I will get it.’
He hesitated. Dare he search the bed ? Dare
he disturb its helpless burden ? He wondered.
He was ready for anything. He was capable of
slaughter, but he wavered and retreated before
the idea of searching for the photograph in the
place where the box had been.
Then he suddenly decided.
‘Take firm hold of the bed itself, not the
mattress,’ he ordered the Soudanese, 'and I will
take hold on this side. Be very gentle. Do not
disarrange the clothes. We will lift it over the
foot of the bedstead and place it on the floor.
Carefully now—carefully !’
And with the utmost delicacy the two men
lifted the bed bodily and laid it very gently on the
floor, and Mrs. Ilam’s gaze was directed to a new
point of the ceiling.
‘That will be a change for you,’ said Jetsam,
with a touch of compunction in his voice. ‘ I was
obliged to do it. We’ll put you back presently.’
And he searched thoroughly the mattress and
the bedstead, but there was no photograph.
He paused and wiped his brow. The Soudanese
stood at attention by the side of the bed. Jetsam
looked at Jake.
‘ Go and fetch him down,’ he said peremptorily
to the Soudanese.
THE PHOTOGRAPH 247
And Jake vanished.
‘ One way or another this shall end,’ he mur¬
mured, gazing at the old woman in her lowly posi¬
tion among the heaped confusion of the floor ; and
he waited, eyeing at intervals the door.
At length the door opened, and the Soudanese
came in, and he was leading by the hand Josephus
Ilam. Jetsam stepped quickly behind them and
shut and locked the door.
‘Now then, Ilam,’ said he, sit down. Make
him sit down, Jake.’
And quite obediently Ilam sat down on a chair
near the night-table. He made no remark ; he
scarcely looked round; his senses seemed to be
dulled; it was as though his mind had retired
to some fastness from which it refused to
emerge.
‘ What do you want ?’ Ilam demanded gloomily.
‘ What have you been doing ?’
‘I’m going to make one last appeal to you,
Ilam,’ said Jetsam. ‘ I kidnapped you for this, I
may tell you. I was determined to confront the
mother and the son, if necessity should arise.
But you nearly did for me by swallowing too
much of that blessed opiate. You are clumsy,
even when you are a victim. However, you’ve
got over it nicely, haven’t you ? Pretty notion,
wasn’t it ?’ he continued, ‘ to conceal you in your
own attic, where no one would ever think of look-
ing for you. But it wanted doing, my weighty

friend—it wanted doing.’
‘ What are you after ?’ I lam asked again, as if
in the grip of one fixed idea. ‘ You’ve got the
money—what else do you want ?’
‘You know perfectly well what I want,’ said
Jetsam. ‘My case is complete except for that
photograph, and I’ve secured as much money as
will keep me on my pins till I’ve forced you to see
reason. But the photograph is lacking ; you are
aware of that. It’s certainly rather hard lines on
you that you should be forced to give up the very
thing whose possession by me will ruin you. But
what would you have ? I am desperate, and no one
knows better than you and this sad creature here
that my cause is just. Tell me where the photo¬
graph is.’
‘ I don’t know what you mean,’ said I lam
doggedly.
Jetsam turned to Mrs. I lam.
‘ Listen, murderess,’ he said, and Ilam shuddered
at that word : ‘ if you do not answer my questions
I will kill your son before your eyes. Does Ilam
know where the photograph is ?’
Once again the old woman obstinately shut her
eyes and refused to give any indication.
Ilam, who seemed mentally to be quickly re¬
gaining his normal state, stood up and moved to
the fireplace.
THE PHOTOGRAPH 249
‘ Stand!’ said Jetsam angrily, and he drew his
revolver from his pocket. ‘ I will know where
that photograph is or I will hang for you. I shall
not be the first man who has died in a good cause.
Now, where is that photograph ? Did you or your
mother take it out of the box ?’
He lifted the revolver.
‘ I took it out of the box,’ snarled I lam—4 I—I
—I—and my mother knew nothing.’
‘And where is it?’ asked Jetsam, smiling
triumphantly.
‘ It is here,’ Ilam cried, and he took a faded
photograph from his breast pocket. ‘You never
thought of searching me, eh ? Ass !’
‘ Give it me,’ said Jetsam quietly.
‘ No,’ said Ilam ; and with a sudden movement
he stuck it in the fire.
The flame destroyed it in an instant.
Jetsam sprang towards him, and then fell back
as if stunned. Jetsam was beaten, after all. He
gave a sort of groan and walked to the other side
of the room, as if in a dream. He had failed, and
he meant to commit suicide. All his trouble, all
his risks, had gone for nothing. He raised the
revolver again, and no one in the room quite
guessed the tragedy that was preparing for them.
His finger was on the trigger.
Immediately behind him was a draught-screen,
and the draught-screen began mysteriously to sink
forward. It lodged lightly on his shoulders. He

turned, the revolver at his temple ; and round the
screen, from behind it, appeared Rosie.
* Don’t do that,’ she said calmly, and she took
the revolver out of his unresisting hand.
Jetsam turned round, saw that the person who
had so mysteriously interfered was Rosie herself,
and sank down on a chair.
‘You have done me an evil turn,’ he breathed,
at the same time with a gesture ordering the
Soudanese to leave the room.
‘ I have saved your life,’ she said simply.
‘Yes,’ he replied, with a trace of bitterness.
‘ That is what I mean. You are not the first
who has saved my life. And if the first saviour
had refrained we should all have been happier
now.’
‘ Do not say that,’ she whispered. ‘ I-’
‘ You—you would never have met me,’ he said
curtly.
‘ I am glad I have met you,’ she retorted,
bravely facing him.
‘ Ah !’ he sighed. 1 And yet you play tricks
on me ! Yet you make promises to me and break
them!’
* No, no,’ she cried. ‘ I only promised to go to
the boat, and I would have gone to the boat after¬
wards.’
‘ Why did you not go at once ?’
THE PHOTOGRAPH 251
She told him how she had gone by accident into

Pauline’s bedroom and found it empty, and how
thus all her suspicions were aroused.
‘ I was afraid your plans might fail,’ she said;
‘ and you had threatened to kill yourself if they
failed ; and I thought something dreadful might
happen during my absence. And so—so—I hid
myself here—without thinking. I’m so sorry.’
And tears came to her eyes.
‘ A few minutes ago I might have been seriously
perturbed by what you have told me,’ said Jetsam.
‘ But what does it matter now ? If your sister is
against me, if the house is surrounded by spies, it
makes no difference. I wanted to kill this man
here. I should have killed him ; but I thought of
the annoyance it would give you. Yes,’ he smiled,
‘ I did really. Not to mention the futile trouble
it would cause me. And on the whole I regarded
it as simpler and neater to kill myself. But you
have stopped that. Will you oblige me by putting
down that revolver. It is at full cock.’
‘ You will not touch it ?’ she demanded.
‘ I will not touch it,’ he replied.
She laid it at the foot of the bed, and then bent
down inquiringly to old Mrs. I lam, who rested
with closed eyes.
‘ She is asleep,’ murmured Rosie.
‘ Through all this ?’
‘ Yes, thank heaven ! She sleeps very heavily
sometimes. Will you not put the bed back in its

place? I do not like to see it here. It is pain¬
ful, very painful, in spite of all you have told me
about her, to see this. She is very old and very
helpless.’
During the conversation I lam had remained in
a sort of stupor. It was as though the effort of
putting the photograph in the fire, and then the
shock of Rosie’s sudden appearance, had exhausted
the energies which he had managed with difficulty
to collect as the results of the narcotic passed
away ; it was as though the narcotic had resumed
its sway over him for a time. But now he came
brusquely forward, taking two long steps across
the room, and stood between Rosie and Jetsam,
and he put his face quite close to Rosie’s face, as
an actor does to an actress on the stage.
‘ Are you this scoundrel’s accomplice ?’ he asked
hoarsely.
‘ Cousin,’ said Rosie, ‘ Mr. Jetsam is not a
scoundrel, and I am nobody’s accomplice.’
‘ He has nearly killed me, and he has robbed me
of two thousand five hundred pounds,’ pursued
Ilam. * If that is not being a scoundrel, what is ?
Tell me that. You are his accomplice. You came
into this house to serve his ends.’
‘ Indeed, I did not,’ protested Rosie, ‘ I came
into this house with my sister at your urgent
request.’
THE PHOTOGRAPH 253
* Yes,’ sneered Ilam. ‘ That is what you made

me believe, you chit! You worked it very well;
but I know different now.’
* Until I came here I had never seen Mr.
Jetsam,’ said Rosie.
‘You have come to understand each other
remarkably well in quite a few days.’
‘ Perhaps we have,’ admitted the girl. ‘ But if
you object you have a simple remedy.’
‘ What is that ?’
‘ You say he is a thief and almost a murderer.
You say that I am his accomplice ; we are criminals
therefore. Bring us to justice. Have the entire
affair thrashed out, Cousin Ilam.’
‘You know that I cannot do that,’ said Ilam.
‘ I am well aware that you dare not,’ said
Rosie.
‘ The scandal would be intolerable. Think of
Pauline’s feelings.’
‘ But suppose Pauline, too, is in the con¬
spiracy ?’
‘ There would always be the scandal. It would
ruin the City.’
‘ It is neither the scandal nor the City that you
are thinking of, Cousin Ilam,’ said Rosie. ‘ It
is merely yourself or your mother. If it is your
mother, well and good.’
Ilam retired a couple of paces, uncertain what
to say in reply, and possibly fearing some attack
from Mr. Jetsam, who stood behind him. There

was a silence, and then I lam murmured :
£ Ah! my poor mother, sleeping there in the
midst of all this!’
It was a cry from the strange man’s heart, and
another silence ensued. The situation had reached
such a point as baffled all the parties to it to dis¬
cover a solution.
It was Jetsam who broke the silence.
‘ I will leave you,’ he said in a low voice.
‘ Good-bye,’ he said, as no one replied.
* Where are you going to ?’ asked Rosie.
‘ I am merely going,’ answered Jetsam.
£ But you will tell me where ?’ she insisted.
£ It is vague,’ he replied. £ Out of your life—
that is all I can say. It was too much to hope
that at the end of a career which has been one
long and uninterrupted misfortune the sun of
happiness should shine on me. I was destined to
failure from the beginning. You do not know all
my story; but you know some of it—enough to
enable you, perhaps, to forgive me. Good-bye !’
He moved to the door.
£ You will not leave me like that,’ said Rosie.
£ You dare not leave me like that. You are going
to kill yourself.’
£ No,’ he said. £ I have got over that caprice,
I think. I shall drag out my existence to its
natural end.’
THE PHOTOGRAPH 255
‘ Give me your address,’ Rosie said doggedly.

He shook his head.
‘ You are cruel,’ she whimpered. ‘ After-’
She was interrupted by Ilam himself, who
said :
‘ Rosie, go downstairs. I have two words to
speak to this fellow. Go downstairs. Leave us.’
His tone was cold and acid.
‘ Yes,’ Jetsam agreed after a moment. ‘ Leave
us ; we have to speak to each other.’
‘You will not go without seeing me?’ asked
Rosie.
‘ I will not,’ replied Jetsam, and the next
instant the two men were alone together in the
room, save for the unconscious form of Mrs.
Ilam.
The door had been locked again, this time by
Ilam.
‘ She is in love with you,’ Ilam shouted fiercely.
£ You have imposed on her; you have taken
advantage of her ignorance of life, and she is in
love with you ! It is infamous. I am stronger
than you, and unless you promise me-’
‘ Idiot!’ Jetsam stopped him. * What are you
raving about? You must be mad. You must
have forgotten—as your mother forgets. As for
this poor girl being in love with me-’ He
stopped with a hard laugh. ‘ What has that to do
with you ?’
‘ It has everything to do with me,’ cried Ilam,

and, as if transported by fury, he suddenly sprang
on Jetsam, who was all unprepared, and, clasping
him in a murderous embrace, threw him to the
ground. ‘ I’ve had enough of you,’ he ground
out the words through his teeth. ‘ And if I
finish you, I can easily show that it was in self-
defence.’
And he had scarcely spoken when his hands fell
lax in astonishment and alarm, for immediately
outside the window, or so it seemed, there sounded
four notes of a trombone, brazen, clear, and im¬
posing in the night. No one who has heard
Beethoven’s greatest symphony will ever forget
the four notes—commonly called the notes of fate
—with which the most tremendous of musical
compositions opens. It was these notes which
the trombone had given forth. There was a
silence, and the instrument repeated them, and in
the next pause that followed, the two men who an
instant before had been joined in a dreadful
struggle, lay moveless, listening to their own
breathing; and a third time the trombone
sounded.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE DEAD MARCH
When Pauline, standing outside Carpentaria’s

bungalow, had communicated to Carpentaria the
fateful fact that all Ilam’s servants had dis¬
appeared from their rooms, and had given ex¬
pression to the vague and terrible fear that was
beginning to take possession of her, the musician
said in reply :
‘ You have every reason to be afraid, and yet I
shall ask you to try to calm your apprehensions.
Whether the servants are there or not, nobody
can get into your house without our knowing it,
and when anybody starts to attempt to get in,
there will be plenty of time for you to alarm your¬
self then.’
‘ But Rosie alone there with poor Mrs. Ilam F
sighed Pauline.
‘ Mrs. Ilam can’t do her any harm, at any rate,’
said Carpentaria comfortingly.
And with that he commenced a cautious peram-
257 17
bulation of the exterior of Ham’s house, Pauline

following him.
‘ I wish you would go to my sister until I have
something to report,’ he murmured. ‘You will
take cold, and you will work yourself up into a
fever, and do no good to anybody.’
‘ I shall not work myself up into a fever,’ replied
Pauline firmly. ‘ I am capable of being just as
calm as you are yourself. Let us go at once into
the house—let us go to Rosie.’
‘ What!’ expostulated Carpentaria, ‘ and spoil
whatever scheme is going on ? No, my dear
young lady, we have gone so far that we must go
a little further. We must catch the schemers red-
handed. If we do not, our night’s work will have
been wasted.’
The idea of weakly and pusillanimously changing
a course of conduct at the very moment when that
course promised the most interesting adventures
shocked all the artist in him.
They stared blankly at the house, whose form
was clearly revealed in the misty moonlight, but
none of whose windows showed the slightest
glimmer of light. It was an extremely modern
tenement, and its architecture was in no way
startlingly original; nevertheless, in those moments
it seemed to both of them the strangest, the most
mysterious, the most insubstantial house that the
hand of man had ever raised.
THE DEAD MARCH 259
Suddenly Pauline clutched his arm.
‘ I hear some one walking somewhere in the
grounds/ she said.
They both listened. In the stillness of the
night regular steps sounded plainly from a
distance.
* It is the patrol on the terrace/ said Carpen¬
taria. ‘ It is assuredly on the terrace—the sound
of heavy boots on stone flags, isn’t it ?’
* Yes/ Pauline agreed, loosing his arm.
They were twenty or thirty yards from the
house.
‘ I want you to be brave and to do something
for me.’
Carpentaria turned to her.
‘ What is it ?’
‘ Go to the patrol, and tell him I have sent
you, and that he is to remain within sight of
the boat there, until further orders, keeping as
much in the background as possible. Will you
go?’
‘ Alone ?’
* Alone. There is no danger. Besides, one of
us must remain here, and one person can more
easily keep out of sight than two. My fear is
that the boat may be used again. The patrol is
not to prevent the boat being used. He is not to
show himself; he is merely to observe. You
understand ?’
17—2
‘ Then you insist on my going ?’

‘ No, I entreat you to go.’
And without more words she went. It was her
figure, and not the figure of Rosie, that Mr. Jetsam
had seen in the gardens when he peeped out of
the window of Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom.
Carpentaria, now alone, recommenced from a
fresh spot his vigil over the closed house. He
argued with himself with much ingenuity as to
what point the persons who wished to enter it
would choose for their appearance, but he could
decide nothing. They might, he thought, come
by the avenue, or round by the back from the
other side of the buildings of the Central Way, or
even through the gardens. He was growing im¬
patient of a delay apparently interminable, and
then his glance happened to wander upwards to
the roof of the house. He could not see the roof
itself, because he was now too near the wall, but it
appeared to him that he detected a phenomenon
above the roof which was somewhat unusual.
He walked carefully away from the house until
the expanse of roof became visible ; and, indeed,
he had not been mistaken. There was a radiance
there. The small square pane of the attic, flat
with the surface of the roof itself, was illuminated,
and sent up a faint shaft of light into the sky.
Instantly he saw his own shortcomings as a
counter - schemer against schemers. He had
THE DEAD MARCH 261
assumed that the schemers were not already in
the house, whereas he had had no grounds for
such an assumption. The schemers were most
obviously in the house, and they had most
obviously been there for a considerable time, since
no one could have recently entered it without his
knowledge. He was angry with the schemers,
and he was more angry with himself, and one of
those wild ideas seized him—one of those ideas
which could only occur to a Carpentaria. He
would catch these schemers himself, by his own
devices, and he would do it leisurely, dramatically,
and effectively. He would make such a capture
as never had been made before. He did not
know precisely who the schemers were, nor their
numbers, nor their nefarious occupations in the
house ; and he did not care. When once he was
in the toils of a grand romantic idea he cared for
nothing except the execution of it. He laughed
with joy.
‘ Why do you laugh ?’ said a voice behind him.
It was Pauline, who had returned. She had
given the instructions to the patrol.
‘ An idea/ he replied—‘ a notion that appealed
to me.’ And then he perceived that he must at
all costs get rid of Pauline, and he continued :
‘ My sister is extremely disturbed,’ he said.
‘ Will you not, as a last favour, go and stay with
her ? Do not refuse me this. I will find some
one to assist me in my work here—one of

my trombone-players on whom I can rely. I—I
really do not care for you to be out here like this.
The strain is too much for you.’
‘ But Rosie-’ she objected again.
‘ Rosie is all right,’ he reassured her. ‘ I will
answer for Rosie’s safety with my life ; and when
I say that, I mean it.’
‘ I will do as you wish,’ said Pauline at length.
‘ Let me see you into the house,’ he murmured,
enchanted.
He unlocked his front-door for her, and called
out softly, ‘ Juliette !’
‘ Is that you, Carlos ?’ said a voice in the dark¬
ness at the top of the stairs.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Here is Miss Dartmouth
come to keep you company. Do not use a light
—at least, use as little light as possible, until you
hear some music.’
‘ Hear some music ? What music ?’
‘ Never mind what music. If you should hear
some music you will know that you are at liberty
to turn on all the lights you like. Miss Dart¬
mouth will tell you why I want darkness at present.
Here are the stairs, Miss Dartmouth. Cling to
the rail. Au revoir.'
‘ But-’ faltered Pauline.
‘ Au revoir, I said,’ he whispered insistently.
Before leaving the house he rushed into the
THE DEAD MARCH 263
kitchen, found a long clothes-line, of which he
seemed to know exactly the whereabouts, and
appropriated it.
The next minute he was tying the handle of
Ilam’s front-door firmly to the railing, so that it
would be impossible to open the door from the
inside. He secured in the same manner the side-
door and also the gate in the wall of the kitchen
yard. He then fixed pieces of ropes under
windows, in such a manner that a person en¬
deavouring to leap from a window to the ground
would almost certainly be caught in the rope, and
break a leg or an arm, if not a neck or so.
‘ Cheerful for them!’ he murmured maliciously.
1 I only hope it won’t be Miss Rosie who tries to
make her exit by the window. I have answered
for her. However, I must take the risks.’
He glanced finally round the house, throwing
away some short unused pieces of rope, but keep¬
ing two long pieces. He surveyed the house
with satisfaction.
‘ I think I can safely leave it for five minutes or
so now,’ he said to himself; and he shut his pen¬
knife with a vicious snap and put it in his pocket.
Then he ran off at a great speed in the direc¬
tion of the Central Way. At the southern end of
the Central Way, nearly opposite to the general
offices of the City, was an elegant building known
as the band-house. Here dwelt the majority of
the members of Carpentaria’s world-renowned

orchestra. Some members, being married to
women instead of married to their art, had per¬
mission to possess domestic hearths in London
and the suburbs, but these were few. The edifice
was a very large one, as it had need to be. A
peculiar feature of it was the rehearsal-room on
the top floor, constructed, like the finest flats in
New York, in such a manner as to be absolutely
sound-proof.
Carpentaria rang the electric bell at the
portals of the band-house, and the portals were
presently opened by a sleepy person whose duty
it was to admit bandsmen returning after late
leave.
‘ Look ’ere,’ said the porter, ‘ this is a bit
thick, this is. Do you know as the hour is
exactly-’
‘ Hold your tongue, you fool!’ Carpentaria
stopped him .briefly, ‘ and go and bring Mr*
Bruno to me at once ; it’s very important. Let’s
have some light.’
‘ I beg pardon, sir,’ said the porter, astounded
by this nocturnal apparition of the autocrat of
the band. ‘ Mr. Bruno is asleep, sir. He had
two whiskies to make him sleep, and went to bed
afore midnight, sir.’
‘ I know he’s asleep. Do you suppose I
thought he was standing on his head waiting for
THE DEAD MARCH 265
the dawn ? Go and waken him—and quicker than

that! Here, I’ll go with you.’
The two men went upstairs together, and Mr.
Bruno, principal trombone-player of the band,
was soon sitting up in bed, awaking to the
presence of his chief.
‘ Bruno, my lad,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ give me
your trombone.’
£ My trombone, sir ?’
‘ Yes,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ Mendelssohn once
remarked that the trombone was an instrument
too sacred to use often, but I think the supreme
occasion has arrived for me to use it to-night.’
£ It’s there, in the corner, sir,’ said Bruno,
wondering vaguely what was this latest caprice of
Carpentaria’s.
Carpentaria rushed to the thing, took it out of
its case, and put it to his mouth.
£ H’m !’ he murmured, after he had sounded a
note gently. £I can do it, I think. Listen,
Bruno ! The occasion is not only supreme ; it is
unique. You are to rouse all the men ; you are
to dress, and take your instruments ; and you are
to go out quietly and surround the bungalow of
our honoured President, Mr. Josephus Ilam.
You are to make no noise of any kind until you
hear me give the first bars of a tune, either with
my mouth or with this instrument. You are then
to join in that tune.’
‘ What tune, sir ?’

‘ You will hear.’
‘ Where shall you be, sir ?’
4 You will see. Get up, now ; don’t lose a
second.’
Carpentaria was off again. He returned to
Ilam’s house, and climbed to the balcony of the
window of Mrs. Ilam’s bedroom. It was for¬
tunate that he had preserved the rope, for he
could not have climbed with the trombone in
his arms. His method was to leave the trombone
on the ground, the rope tied to it ; he kept the
other end of the rope in his hand, and drew the
trombone after him.
Then it was that he sounded on the trombone
the terrible phrase of Beethoven’s, which put a
period to the struggle between I lam and Jetsam.
He felt for the handle of the French window,
and, finding the window fastened on the inside,
adopted the simple device of leaning with his full
weight against the window-frame. The whole
thing gave way, and through a crashing of glass,
a splintering of wood, and the tearing of curtains
he backed into the room, the trombone held
precariously in one hand and his revolver very
firmly in the other.
The scene that confronted him was sufficiently
surprising. Amid the extraordinary disorder of
the chamber he found its three occupants all
THE DEAD MARCH 267
stretched on the floor. The old woman was
apparently oblivious, but the two men, releasing
each other, gazed at him for all the world like two
schoolboys caught in an act contrary to disci¬
pline.
‘ Did I startle you ? I hope so,’ said Carpen¬
taria, when he had found his bearings. £ I
meant to.’
Jetsam was the first to rise.
‘You with the red hair!’cried Jetsam. ‘You
are trying to save my life again !’
‘ Never mind my red hair,’ said Carpentaria,
ruffled. ‘ I am not trying to save anybody’s life.
I’m here on a mission of inquiry. No one leaves
this room until I have had a full explanation of
everything. I have stood just about as much as
I can stand of the mystery that has been hanging
over this City for a week past. I lam, let me beg
you to get up and take a seat over there in that
corner. Thanks!’
He relinquished the musical instrument as Ilam
clumsily resumed his feet and obeyed.
‘As for you, Mr. Jetsam,’ continued Carpen¬
taria, ‘ you know, from accounts which have
reached me, the precise moral effect of a loaded
revolver such as I am now pointing at you. Go
into the other corner.’
‘ I won’t,’ said Jetsam. ‘You can fire if you
like. As a matter of fact, you daren’t.’
‘ You propose to leave the room and defy me ?’

‘ I propose to leave the room.’
‘ Listen,’ said Carpentaria.
He took the trombone and blew on it loudly
a few notes which neither Jetsam nor I lam imme¬
diately recognized. But the musicians, who had
by this time surrounded the house, recognized
them. And at once there entered by the smashed
window the solemn and moving strains of the
Dead March in ‘ Saul.’ The house seemed to
be ringed in a circle of awful melody.
Jetsam shuddered.
‘ Now kindly stay where you are,’ said Carpen¬
taria.
And Jetsam stayed where he was, at the foot
of the bed, his back to Mrs. Ilam’s prone figure.
The playing continued.
‘What foolery is this ?’ demanded Ilam slowly.
‘ It is part of a larger piece of foolery that has
rescued you, , Ilam,’ Carpentaria replied, and he
was crossing the room to approach Ilam, when he
saw something in the looking-glass over the
mantelpiece, and he started back.
Mrs. Ilam, the paralytic, roused in some strange
way, either by the violence of the scenes at which
she had assisted, or by the inexplicable influence
of the music, was almost erect in her bed, and
her trembling parchment hands had seized the
revolver which Rosie had left on the floor, and
THE DEAD MARCH 269
she was endeavouring to point it between Jetsam’s

shoulders. The other two men turned and saw
the fatal and appalling movement of the aged
creature, who was evidently in the grip of some
tremendously powerful instinct — the kind of
instinct that only dies with death.
Carpentaria alone retained his self-possession.
With a swift and yet gentle movement he dis¬
armed the terrible old woman, and she sank back,
with streaming eyes, helpless and moveless as
before. The incident was over in a few seconds.»
‘ And now,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ I will hear your
story, Mr. Jetsam. But first, we must lift this
bed back to its proper position.’
‘Very well,’ replied Jetsam, trembling in spite
of himself. ‘ You shall hear my story.’
The music ceased.
CHAPTER XXIX
MR. JETSAM’S RECITAL
‘We will go downstairs,’ said Carpentaria, when

a certain amount of order had been restored
to the room. ‘ We shall be more at ease
there.’
‘No,’ cried Jetsam, and there was a note of
passion in his voice. ‘ This old woman shall hear
my tale. I tell it in her presence, or I tell it not
at all.’
Carpentaria gazed at Mrs. Ham’s eyes, which
made no response. Her bed was now replaced
in its proper position, and those strange burning
eyes perused their old spot in the ceiling. After
the brief and terrible return of activity to that
stricken body, it seemed to have sunk back into a
condition of helplessness more absolute even than
before. The eyes burned, but not quite with
their former disturbing brilliance.
‘ Very well,’ Carpentaria agreed.
Ilam was already seated, apparently half-coma¬
tose. The other two men each seized a chair.
270
MR. JETSAM’S RECITAL 271
And then there was a timid but insistent knock¬

ing.
‘ What is that ?’ demanded Carpentaria of Jet¬
sam. ‘You ought to know; you have been
master here for some hours.’
‘ It is Miss Rosie, I imagine,’ Jetsam answered.
‘Your singular music has startled her.’
Carpentaria walked rapidly to the door, un¬
locked it, and opened it. Rosie it indeed was
who stood there.
‘ Ah, my dear young lady,’ he said lightly,
without giving her an opportunity even to express
her astonishment. ‘ I would like you to go to
your sister, who is in my house over the way.
But I fear you cannot open any of the doors.
Won’t you retire and rest a little, after your com¬
plicated labours ?’ He smiled a little grimly.
‘ Everything is all right here, and should your
aged relative need your ministrations you may
rely on me to call you. In the meantime, your
cousin and I, and your particular friend Mr. Jet¬
sam, must have a chat on business matters.’
He bowed, covering the aperture of the door
with his body so that Rosie could not see inside
the room. As for Rosie, she hesitated.
‘ I entreat you,’ he insisted, ‘ go and rest, and
don’t have anything more to do with boats ; you
might drown yourself. And believe me when I
say that nothing further will be done in secret.
The moment I am free I will endeavour to free

the doors.’
Rosie moved reluctantly away down the land¬
ing. She had not spoken a word. Carpentaria
closed the portal softly, and retired to his chair.
* You have my attention,’ he remarked signifi¬
cantly to Mr. Jetsam.
‘Well,’ said Jetsam, after a moment’s pause.
‘ It goes back a very long time, this affair does,
Mr. Carpentaria. It certainly began before you
were born—down at Torquay. Torquay, accord¬
ing to what they tell me, was not the place then
that it is now, not by a considerable distance;
but it was fashionable. It had got a bit of a
name as a good place to go and get fat in.
Perhaps that was why a certain soda-water manu¬
facturer went there to spend a year or so. He
was a very wealthy man, and he rented a villa
there. It’s one of those villas on the top of the
hill between Union Street and the sea, and it
still exists. His age was about fifty, and he was
supposed to be worth half a million or so—all
made out of gas and splutter, you see. Being
supposed to be worth half a million or so, of
course he soon had the entire population of
Torquay knocking at his door and throwing cards
into his card-basket. He made a wide circle of
friends in rather less than no time, and being a
simple, decent creature, though not faultless, he
MR. JETSAM’S RECITAL 2 73
was pretty well pleased with himself. Now
among the friends that he made was a certain
widow, age uncertain—but in the neighbourhood
of thirty, and her name was Kilmarnock.’
At this time Mr. Jetsam stood up, and bending
over Mrs. Ilam’s bed with his smile so ruthlessly
cruel, he repeated, staring at the invalid :
‘ Her name was Kilmarnock, wasn’t it ?’
Mrs. Ilam made no sign. Mr. Jetsam resumed
his chair.
‘ A pretty woman, I believe she was, with
magnificent black eyes; the most wonderful eyes
in the West Country, people said,’ Mr. Jetsam
proceeded. ‘ Husband dead some little time.
Anyhow, she had gone out of mourning, and her
dresses were the amazement of the town. They’d
look pretty queer nowadays, I reckon, because
that was before i860. However, her dresses
have got nothing to do with it, especially as the
soda-water manufacturer—have I happened to
mention that his name was Ilam ?—especially as
Mr. Ilam couldn’t see them very well. Mr. Ilam
was beginning to suffer from a cataract; both his
eyes were affected, and the disease was making
progress rapidly. You must remember that
oculists didn’t know as much about cataract then
as they do now. Well, Mr. Ilam was himself a
widower—a widower with one child, aged three
years. He had been a widower for two years
18
when he first met Mrs. Kilmarnock. He liked

Mrs. Kilmarnock. She seemed to have in her
the makings of a good nurse, and one of the
things that Mr. Ilam wanted was a faithful, loving
nurse. He was certainly in an awkward predica¬
ment. He also wanted a mother for his child ;
and Mrs. Kilmarnock took a tremendous fancy to
the child—a simply tremendous fancy. He was
a man who talked pretty freely and openly, Mr.
Ilam was, and he made no secret of the fact that,
though he preferred to marry a widow, he would
never permit himself to marry a widow who had
children of her own. And one day he said to
Mrs. Kilmarnock that, since he had never heard
her mention a child, he assumed that she had
no children.
‘ She replied that his assumption was correct,
and that she continually regretted being childless,
as she adored children, and felt very severely the
need of something to give her a real interest in life.
A month later Mr. Ilam asked Mrs. Kilmarnock
to marry him, and she consented like a bird.
Three months later they were married. Every¬
body said kind things ; for you must know that
Mrs. Kilmarnock was not penniless herself. Oh,
no ! She lived in very good style in Torquay,
and gave dinners that Torquay liked. And
Torquay is a good judge of dinners. Her hus¬
band had been a Scottish writer to the Signet,
she said. So the marriage was celebrated amid

universal plaudits, and there was quite three-
quarters of a column about it in the Western
Morning News.'
At this juncture Carpentaria ventured to inter¬
rupt the speaker.
‘You appear,’ he said, ‘to be remarkably well
informed about matters which occurred long before
you were of an age to take an intelligent interest
in them. At the time of this marriage you surely
were not in the habit of reading newspapers ?’
‘ I was not,’ answered Jetsam drily. ‘ I had
attained the mature age of three years. If I am
well informed it is because I have taken the trouble
to inform myself. You see, I was interested, and
I have spared no pains during this last year or
two to acquire all the circumstantial details of the
case.’
‘ I percieve,’ said Carpentaria. ‘But how were
you interested ?’
‘You will understand presently,’ said Jetsam.
‘ To continue. This Mrs. Kilmarnock, whom we
must now call Mrs. Ilam, used, both before and
after her second marriage, to pay visits to the
town of Teignmouth, and these visits were, not
to put too fine a point on it, of an extremely
discreet nature; they were, in fact, strictly secret.
Mrs. Ilam fell into the habit of telling her husband
that she was going to Exeter to shop, but instead
18—2
of going to Exeter she went only as far as Teign-

mouth. She was always dressed very simply
indeed for these Teignmouth visits. She used
to walk through the town from the station, and,
having taken the ferry across the Teign, she
walked up the right bank of the river till she
came to a cottage that stood by itself in the
marshy land thereabouts. At the cottage an old
man and woman and a little boy would meet her.
And the strange thing was that the old man spoke
French; he could not speak English. You may
possibly not be aware that onion-boats from the
coast of Brittany are constantly arriving at the
smaller Devonshire ports, such as Torquay and
Teignmouth. The old man was a Breton pea-
sent, with all the characteristics of a Breton peasant,
who had arrived at Teignmouth once in an onion-
boat, and forgotten to go back again because he
fell in love with an Englishwoman—a Devonshire
lass with a soft drawling accent. So Mrs. Ilam
used to talk to the Breton peasant in French, and
to his wife in English, and to the boy in baby
language. She would cover the boy with kisses ;
she would call him by pet names, and she saw
him at least once a week.’
‘ He was her son ?’ Carpentaria put in inter¬
rogatively.
‘You have naturally guessed it,’ Jetsam re¬
sponded ‘ He was her son.’
‘ But if she was really a widow, and this was

really her son, why did she-’
‘Oh,’ cried Jetsam, ‘I think she was really a
widow, and there is not the slightest shadow of
doubt that this was really her son. Perhaps she
kept him a secret from Torquay because she felt
that he might prove an obstacle to the achieve¬
ment of her desires in Torquay. Anyhow, she
loved him passionately. Her son was, beyond
question, the greatest passion of her life.’ He
turned abruptly again to the old woman, ‘ Wasn’t
he ?’ he demanded.
And the aged creature’s burning eyes were
filled with tears.
‘ I think perhaps it might be as well to leave
Mrs. Ilam out of the conversation,’ suggested
Carpentaria.
‘ Impossible to leave her out of the conversa¬
tion,’ said Jetsam quickly, ‘ because the con¬
versation is almost exclusively about her. How¬
ever, I will not trouble her any more for
confirmation of what I say. Well, for nearly a
year after her second marriage these clandestine
visits of Mrs. Ilam to the cottage on the banks
of the Teign continued with the most perfect
regularity, and then something extremely remark¬
able happened.’
‘ What was that ?’
‘ First, I must tell you that soon after the
marriage Mr. Ham’s cataract got rapidly worse.

In six months he could only distinguish objects
vaguely. He could not read anything except
shop signs. In Mrs. Ilam he found an admirable
nurse and companion. Except for her shopping
excursions to Exeter she never left his side. She
was a model wife, and all Torquay admitted the
fact. Even when Mr. Ham’s impaired vision
rendered him captious, querulous, and indeed
unbearable, she remained sweetness itself; and
Mr. Ilam would not admit anyone but her to his
presence. He even took a dislike to his child,
his only son, and the infant was left in the charge
of servants and governesses, except that Mrs. Ilam
saw him as frequently as she could.’
‘ But this is not very remarkable,’ said Carpen¬
taria, ‘ such things are constantly happening.’
‘ I am coming to the remarkable part,’ replied
Jetsam, with a certain solemnity of manner. One
day the old Breton fisherman told Mrs. Ilam that
a relative had left him property in his native
district, and that he had persuaded his wife to go
with him to France so that they might end their
days there. Mrs. Ilam was extremely disturbed
by this piece of news, because she did not know
what to do with the boy. She asked the French¬
man how soon he proposed to leave, and the
Frenchman said in about three weeks. She left and
said she would come back again in a few days. It
is at this point that the remarkable begins. Within

a week all Torquay was made aware that Mr. Ilam,
at the solicitation of his wife, had decided to go to
Paris to consult a great specialist there.’
c I see,’ breathed Carpentaria, while Ham’s face
wore at length a look of interest.
‘I doubt if you do see,’ said Jetsam. ‘You
think that Mrs. Ham was arranging to go to
Paris in order to be nearer her son. Well, she
was, but not at all in the way you imagine.
They departed from Torquay almost at once, and
in a somewhat remarkable manner, for Mrs. Ilam
dismissed every servant, even her own maid and
Mr. Ham’s man, and the child’s nurse—all were
dismissed in Torquay itself—and Mr. Ilam and
his wife and child left Torquay railway station
entirely unaided, except by porters and the
domestics of a hotel. Mrs. Ilam would cer¬
tainly have all her work cut out to conduct the
expedition, for you must remember that at this
period Mr. Ilam was practically blind. Well,
they had to change at Exeter and catch the
Plymouth express, and at Exeter the old French
peasant was waiting on the platform, evidently by
arrangement, and he held Mrs. Ham’s own little
boy by the hand, and Mrs. Ilam and the peasant
had a long talk by themselves, and then the
express came in, and the Hams got into it, and
the express started off again for London, and the
28o the city of pleasure
French peasant was left standing on the platform

holding the little boy by the hand. You see ?’
‘No,’ said Carpentaria bluntly.
‘Well,’ proceeded Jetsam. ‘It was not the
same little boy that the peasant held by the hand.
Mrs. Ilam had taken her own child wdth her, and
left behind her step-child.’
‘ Great heavens!’ murmured Carpentaria.
‘ Exactly,’ said Jetsam. ‘ Only the heavens
didn’t happen to interfere. This was no common
case of substitution at birth, it was a monstrously
ingenious change which Mrs. Ilam, out of her
passionate love for her own son, had planned and
carried out in a manner suggested to her by the
facts of the situation. Consider. The two boys
were the same age—about three years—and they
were dressed alike, Mrs. Ilam had seen to that.
Mr. Ilam is nearly blind, certainly he could not
distinguish one child of three from another child
of three, even if they had been dressed differently.
Moreover, Mr. Ilam is not interested in the child.
He is wrapped up in his own complaint, a
ferocious egotist, like most sufferers. Probably
the child sleeps during the journey to London—
probably Mrs. Ilam gives him something to make
him sleep. The party arrive at Paddington, and
are met by a new set of servants whom Mrs. Ilam
has engaged. She left Torquay with a child ; she
arrived at Paddington with a child. Who, except
the old French peasant, is to know that there has

been a change en route ? The new child is kept
entirely out of Mr. Ilam’s presence. He is taught
his new name ; he is taught to forget his past on
the banks of the Teign ; and he readily succeeds
in doing so. His new nurse is suitably discreet.
During their brief stay in London the Ilams stop
at a hotel. They do not visit friends, on the plea
of Mr. Ilam’s complaint. Then they leave London
for Paris.’
‘ The thing was perfect,’ observed Carpentaria,
astounded.
‘ It was fatally perfect,’ Jetsam agreed. £ Even
had Mr. Ham been cured at once, the danger
would have been but slight, because he had never
seen his own child clearly. However, Mr. Ham
was not cured at once, for it happened that the
famous oculist whom they meant to consult died
on the very day they entered Paris. It was seven
years before Mr. Ham got himself cured; but in
the end he was cured almost completely. The
boy was then aged ten years. What possible
chance was there of a discovery of the fraud ?
Even had Mr. Ham ever seen his child clearly,
what resemblance is there between an infant of
three and a boy of ten ? None ; none whatever.
Mrs. Ham had triumphed : she had deposed the
authentic heir of Mr. Ham and had put her own
son on the throne in his stead.’
‘ And the other boy ?’ Carpentaria queried.

Jetsam paused, his eyes bent downwards.
‘ Do you know the Breton peasantry ?’ he
demanded suddenly, at length.
c Not in the least,’ said Carpentaria.
‘ Ah, well; that doesn’t matter! When you
hear the sequel of the story you will be able to
imagine what a Breton peasant is capable of.
He is the equal of the Norman peasant, and
no French novelist has ever yet dared to write
down the actual truth about the Norman peasant.
I told you that Mrs. Ilam and the old Frenchman
had a chat on Exeter platform. She told him
that she was giving him a new charge, preferring
to take the other boy herself. It was arranged
that the new charge should accompany the Breton
to France, and live with him as his foster-child.
Terms were fixed up, no doubt to the entire
satisfaction of the peasant. Then Mrs. Ilam
ventured to play her great card. She informed
the Frenchman that his new charge was a very
delicate plant, frequently ill, and not apparently
destined to long life. This, by the way, was
grossly untrue. “ Of course, if he were to die,” she
said in effect to the peasant, “ you would lose the
income which I shall pay to you for looking after
the child, and to compensate you for that loss I
will promise to give you, if he dies, the sum of
five hundred pounds.” I expect she managed to
put a peculiar and sinister emphasis on these

words. Anyhow, the Frenchman understood.
That was just the kind of thing that you might
rely on a Breton peasant to comprehend without
too much explanation. Five hundred pounds is
five hundred pounds; it is over twelve thousand
francs, and twelve thousand francs to a Breton
peasant is worth anything—it is worth eternal
torture.’
£ And so, in due course, Mrs. Ilam received
news of her stepson’s death ?’
‘ In due course she received news of her step¬
son’s death,’ said Jetsam. * It took a consider¬
able time—six years, in fact—but it was accom¬
panied by legal proof, and when she received it
Mrs. Ilam must have been as happy as the day is
long, especially as her own boy was growing up
strong and well, and Mr. Ilam had taken quite a
fancy to him. So all trace of the crime—would
you call it a crime, or only a pleasing manifesta¬
tion of a mother’s love ?—all trace of the crime
was lost, for the French peasant died ; the English
wife of the French peasant had expired a long
time before.’
And Jetsam paused again.
‘ I am accepting all that you say as gospel,’ said
Carpentaria. ‘ Because somehow it impresses
me vividly as being true.’ Here he looked at
Josephus Ilam, who avoided his glance. ‘But
how does this matter concern yourself, and in

what way did you come upon the traces of the
crime ?’
‘I’ll tell you,’ Jetsam recommenced. ‘It was
like this. The boy was not dead.’
‘ N ot dead ?’
‘No. He had run away. He had had a pretty
hard time before the death of the peasant’s wife.
Afterwards, his existence was a trifle more excit¬
ing than he could bear. He was starved and he
was beaten. But that was not all. On board
fishing boats he was forced to accept dangers and
risks of such a nature that the continuance of his
life was nothing less than a daily miracle. So he
ran away. He was aged nine, and he had a
perfect knowledge of two languages as his stock-
in-trade.’
‘ But the legal proof of his death ?’
‘ Nothing simpler. The foster-father was a
great friend of the village schoolmaster, and the
schoolmaster, as you may know, is always the
secretary of the mayor in a French village. He
it is who makes out all certificates, and transacts
every bit of the routine business of population¬
recording. The foster-father suggested to the
schoolmaster that in exchange for a certificate of
the boy’s death, the schoolmaster should receive
a note of the Bank of France for a thousand
francs. This was more than half a year’s salary
to the schoolmaster, and the result was that the

foster-father got the certificate. No fear of dis¬
covery ! None knew of the issue of the certificate
except these two men. And the lady for whose
benefit the certificate was issued would be ex¬
tremely unlikely to visit a remote French fishing
village.’
‘ And what occurred to the boy V
‘ The principal thing that occurred to the boy
is that he is now sitting here and telling you his
story,’ said Jetsam, calmly.
‘ I guessed it,’ said Carpentaria, with equal
calmness, ‘as soon as you mentioned that the
boy was not dead.’
Josephus Ilam maintained a stony silence.
‘ I knocked about for nine or ten years,’ con¬
tinued Jetsam, ‘both in England and France,
chiefly fishing. Then I suddenly became respect¬
able. I got a place in a house-agency in Cannes,
chiefly on the strength of my knowledge of
French and English. Of course, that only lasted
during the winter season. But my employer had
a similar agency in Ostend during the summer.
It was in Ostend that I became gay. I joined a
theatrical troupe. I travelled a great deal. I did
everything except make money. And after ten
years of that I settled down again as a house-
agency clerk. I really was rather good at that,
much better than as a music-hall performer with
revolvers, for instance. And in various “pleasure

cities ” of Europe I acted as a clerk for over
twenty years. Think of it—twenty years ! And
me growing older and narrower and more gloomy
every year in the service of “pleasure.” I never
saved any money to speak of, even though I
remained single, perhaps because I remained
single. And then one day, finding myself at
St. Malo, I thought I would go and have a look
at that fishing village which I had fled from over
thirty years before. My delightful foster-father
was, of course, dead; so was the schoolmaster ;
but one or two people remembered me, and
among them was an old woman who had been
a charming young girl when I left. It appeared
that my old foster-father had fallen deeply in
love with her in a senile way, and at her parents’
instigation she had married him for his money.
He had confided to her, once when he thought
he was dying, the secret of the substitution on
Exeter platform. And now she told me. She
had always liked me. You should have heard her
pronounce “ Exeter.” It was the funniest thing.'
Mr. Jetsam laughed hardly.
‘ So that was how you got on the track ?’ said
Carpentaria.
‘Yes. I then pursued my inquiries in Torquay,
and I found my old nurse. She told me that the
real child of Mr. Ilam had a large crimson birth-
mark on the calf of his left leg. I had that mark.

She also told me that there existed a photograph
—one of the old daguerrotypes—of me as a child
in the arms of my step-mother, my father standing-
close by, and that the mark on my leg was most
clearly visible on this photograph. And that was
the only real solid piece of information that I
obtained, except that the photograph used to be
kept in an old lacquered box. I had an instinct
that the photograph had been preserved. And it
was preserved—until to-night! I relied on the
photograph. I could dimly recollect Torquay
and Exeter platforms, but of what use would my
assertions be without some proof, some tangible
proof? When I thought of my wasted and
spoiled and miserable life—and of what it might
have been had I not been hated by a woman, I
was filled with hatred and with—with such sorrow
as you can’t understand.'
A sob escaped from Mr. Jetsam, and Carpen¬
taria got up and took his hand.
‘ It is not too late for justice,’ said Carpentaria.
‘That woman has always hated me,’ Jetsam
murmured. ‘ And even to-night her hatred still
burned so fiercely that she tried to kill me. Even
if she could speak, would she admit the truth ?
And she cannot speak.’
‘ I think I can cause her to communicate with
us,’ said Carpentaria. ‘ You will see in a moment.’
CHAPTER XXX
THE WORDS OF MRS. ILAM
Carpentaria bent over the old woman, as if

to search her eyes and find some kindness
there.
And it seemed to him, indeed, that the character
of her gaze had somewhat changed, though those
brilliant orbs, famous in Torquay fifty years ago
for their splendour, showed no trace of humidity.
Carpentaria himself was moved. It would have
been impossible for anyone, least of all an artist
of romantic instincts such as he, to listen to
Jetsam’s recital without emotion. And now,
when the narrative was finished, Jetsam sat silent
and preoccupied, the figure of grief and of failure.
One felt, in observing him, the immense tragedy
of his life—a life which would not have been a
tragedy, but merely a little slice of the common¬
place, had he not by chance learned the sinister
secret of his origin. One understood how the
discovery of that secret had completely changed
his view of existence, how it had filled him with
288
THE WORDS OF MRS. I LAM 289
ideas of frantic hope, frantic revenge, and frantic

regret at the long drab irrecoverable years which
the past had swallowed up. One penetrated, as
it were, into his brain, and watched how he was
continually contrasting what his career actually
had been with what it might have been—with
what it would have been but for the ruthless
action of the woman on the bed.
And then there was the burly, smitten figure
of Josephus I lam, too, equally pathetic in its way.
For love of this strong, heavy man, who once
had been a little boy in a sailor suit standing on
Exeter platform, the woman on the bed had com¬
mitted a crime which was certainly worse than
murder. She had made one life and she had
marred another. And now she herself was
stricken, withered, about to appear before the
ultimate tribunal. It was incontrovertible that, if
she had sinned, she had sinned magnificently, in
the grand manner.
Carpentaria glanced at the two men, and then
back again at the aged mother.
£ I understand, Mrs. Ilam,’ he began in a voice
strangely soft and persuasive, ‘ that you can
indicate “yes” or “ no ” by a slight movement.
Miss Dartmouth told me the other day. Is this
so ? I entreat you to answer me.’
With a sudden jerk Josephus Ilam rose from
his chair and rushed to the bedside.
19
‘Answer him, mother.’

Mother and son exchanged a long gaze, and
then Mrs. Ilam’s eyelids blinked. It was the
affirmative sign.
‘Thank you,’ said Carpentaria simply. ‘Now
it seems to me, if you are not too tired, that we
can quite easily carry on a conversation upon this
basis. It will be slow, but it will be none the less
sure. By successively choosing letters out of the
alphabet you can make up words, and so form
sentences. You can choose the letters thus : I
will run through the alphabet, and when I come
to the letter you want, you will blink. Do you
comprehend my scheme ?’
The eyes blinked.
‘ And are you willing to try it ?’
There was a considerable pause, but in the end
the eyes blinked.
‘Very good,’ said Carpentaria. ‘Now, quite
probably you will want to begin with the letter
“I,” eh?’ '
The eyes blinked.
‘Excellent! Your first word is “I.” Let us
go to the next word. A, B, C, D-’
At ‘ D ’ the eyes blinked again.
With infinite patience, Carpentaria continued
to help Mrs. I lam to express herself, and though
that mouth was incapable of speech and those
hands would never write again, the woman trans-
mitted her first thought to the outer world, and it

went thus :
‘ I do not regret.''
There was something terrible, something
majestic, in that unrepentant enunciation. It
illustrated the remorseless character of the aged
creature, whose spirit nothing apparently could
conquer. Josephus I lam moved away from the
bed and hovered uncertainly between the dress¬
ing-table and the window. Jetsam got up from
his chair and, taking Ilam’s place, examined the
features of the woman who had ruined his life and
cheated him out of all that was his. And even
Jestam could not forbear an admiring exclamation.
‘ You are tremendous,’ he murmured. ‘ I could
almost like you.’
Carpentaria waved him aside.
‘ Has Mr. Jetsam told us the truth, dear
madam ?’ he interrogated her.
And the eyes blinked. It was as though they
blinked joyously, defiantly.
‘ Do you agree that restitution should be made,
so far as restitution is possible ?’ Carpentaria
asked.
There was no movement of the eyelids.
‘ You object to restitution, even now ?’
Still there was no movement of the eyelids.
But Josephus Ilam’s legs could be heard shuffling
on the floor.
19—2
‘ You wish to speak, then ? A, B, C, D-’

Carpentaria went on to ‘ W ’ before Mrs. I lam
signified that the sentence was to commence.
The words ran :
‘ Why named Jetsam ?’
The woman’s mind was evidently exploring, in
a sort of indifferent curiosity, the side-issues, the
minor scenes, of the terrific drama which she had
started and of which she now witnessed the
climax. She appeared to have no sense at all of
her own responsibility.
‘ It was a name I gave myself when I first
found out who I was,’ said Jetsam bitterly.
‘ Something chucked overboard and forgotten,
you see.’
A slight smile seemed to illuminate the woman’s
face.
£ Do you agree that restitution should be
made ?’ Carpentaria repeated patiently.
The eyes of the paralytic made no sign until
Carpentaria began again to go through the
alphabet. Then, letter by letter, the message
came :
£ If my son wishes.’
‘ Mother,’ Ilam murmured, averting his face
from the bed, ‘ of course I wish. I nearly killed
him myself the other day. You thought I had
been dreaming—till you saw him yourself, and,
and-’
THE WORDS OF MRS. ILAM 293
He stopped ; he broke down.

And then Mrs. I lam proceeded, with Carpen¬
taria’s help :
‘ My son must tell me about that.’
‘ No,’ Jetsam put in authoritatively; ‘ I will tell
you about that. I lam—or rather I should say
Kilmarnock—is in no condition to make speeches.
When I first came to this place to begin my
struggle for what was mine, I really had not got
much of a plan in my head. It was so difficult
to make a start. It may seem to you quite a
simple thing’—he turned away from Mrs. Ilam
and addressed Carpentaria—* to go up to a per¬
son and say to him, “ Look here, you are standing
in my shoes, and your mother has committed an act
foully criminal!” But in practice it isn’t quite as
easy as it seems. You want a gigantic nerve to
make a statement like that as if you meant it—
although you do mean it. It sounds rather wild,
you see. And then I met my supplanter rather
before I was ready for him. The truth is that he
came into that little place where I was hiding in
just the same way as you came in, Mr. Carpen¬
taria. He caught me like you did—a trespasser;
and, of course, I was at a disadvantage. He
spoke to me very roughly, and then angered
me-’
‘ How could I know who you were ?’ demanded
Ilam.
‘ Exactly. You couldn’t know. But the effect

on me was the same. Put yourself in my place,
Mr. Kilmarnock. I had been cheated out of my
whole career. You were in unlawful possession
of it; and on the top of that you came along,
and behaved to me as if I were a dog. Well ’—
here Jetsam addressed his stepmother again—
* I told him who I was, and pretty quick too, and
I could see from his manner that he knew the
history of our origin, and the substitution on
Exeter platform.’
‘ I knew,’ I lam admitted with a certain sad¬
ness. ‘ My mother had once told me—I came
across traces of a mystery, and she told me.’
‘And you did nothing?’ queried Jetsam. ‘It
was not on your conscience ?’
‘ You must recollect that we had the legal proof
of your death. What was there to be done ? I
could not have made restitution to the dead, even
had my mother permitted.’
‘ But when I told you who I was,’ rejoined
Mr. Jetsam, ‘unless I am much mistaken, you
believed what I said.’
‘ I did,’ I lam agreed. ‘ Moreover, you bear
a most distinct likeness to a portrait of my
stepfather, painted when he was about your
age.’
‘ You believed me, and your answer was to try
to kill me?’ Jetsam sneered.
The two men, the son and the stepson, were

now opposite to one another, on either side of
the bed, while Carpentaria, intently listening,
stood at the foot.
‘ I did not try to kill you,’ answered Ilam.
‘You pretty nearly succeeded,’ said Jetsam.
‘ I thought I had killed you,’ Ilam said gravely.
‘ But I had no intention of doing so. You said
something very scathing about my mother-’
‘ I said nothing that was not justified.’
‘You insulted my mother. I lost my temper.
I hated you. We always hate those whom we
have wronged. I struck you. You fell, and you
must have knocked your head against the pile of
planks lying in the enclosure; you never moved.
I examined you. I could have sworn you were
dead—I was afraid—I thought of inquests. I
knew the whole truth would come out. I had
not meant to kill. So I took you and buried you
temporarily, while I considered what I should do
afterwards. I went back to the house and told
my mother. She would not believe me. She
thought I had been dreaming. I do frequently
have bad nightmares. And certain things that
occurred afterwards made even me suspect that
after all I had been dreaming. It was not until
you came again that I-’
* And even your mother believed then, eh ?’
said Jetsam. ‘Your mother believed too sud-
denly. She saw me and she believed! And the

result was paralysis ! I ought to have broken it
to her more gently. That would have been
perhaps better for all of us—perhaps better!’
There was a pause. And Jetsam added, as if
communing with himself:
‘ How she hated me ! How she hates me still!
Even to-night, if some one had not interfered in
time-’
He could not get away from the amazing
tenacity of Mrs. Ilam’s purpose.
‘You wish to speak?’ said Carpentaria, who
had been observing the woman’s eyes ; the eyes
were blinking nervously.
He began the alphabet again, and her message
ran thus :
‘ I do not hate him ; but I love my son. To¬
night I thought Josephus was in danger. That
was why—revolver. I always acted for my son.
I love him!’
These sentiments, so unmistakably clear in
their significance, took some time to transmit.
Mrs. Ilam appeared to be exhausted. But after
a few moments she continued :
‘ Where is Rosie ? She helped him. I want to
know why.’
The men exchanged glances.
‘ Why did she help you ?’ Carpentaria asked of
Jetsam.
THE WORDS OF MRS. ILAM 297
‘ Better ask her!’ replied Jetsam curtly.

Carpentaria did not hesitate an instant. He
went to the door, opened it, and called Rosie,
and his voice resounded through the well of the
staircase and the empty rooms. And then Rosie
came from downstairs, like an apparition. She
had been crying.
‘ Mrs. Ilam wants you to explain why you have
been helping Mr. Jetsam,’ said Carpentaria, as
she entered.
‘ Helping him in what ?’ Rosie parleyed timidly.
‘ In his plans-’
‘Against me,’ Ilam added.
‘ I only helped him in his plans for justice,’
said Rosie.
‘ But why ?’
‘ Because I was sorry for him. Because there
is something in his tone—because—oh ! if he has
told you all, are you not all sorry for him ?
When I think of what his life has been-’
She stopped and burst into tears.
‘But my hair is grey,’ murmured Jetsam.
‘ How can you possibly be interested in me ?
What does it matter what happens to me. My
life is over.’
‘ No it isn’t!’ Rosie protested. ‘ It hasn’t yet
begun. It is just beginning. Mrs. Ilam and
Cousin Ilam will be just to you. You will not
bear them ill-will. The wrong is too old for that.
You will forget it. You will forget all the past.
Your hair may be grey, but I’m sure your heart
isn’t. And your voice can influence even the
Soudanese. The way that man obeyed you!
The way he got the better of his brother just to
please you! It seems strange, but I can under¬
stand it, because I have-’
Again she stopped.
Jetsam went up to her and took her hand,
which she seemed willingly to release to him.
And he held it.
‘ How good you are !’ he said steadily. ‘ I am
almost ashamed to have roused your sympathy so
much.’
The other two men watched.
‘ I don’t know what Pauline will say,’ Rosie
stammered.
Suddenly there was the sound of music. The
band, which everybody in the room had forgotten,
had begun to play, apparently of its own accord.
And the melody it had chosen was, ‘ See the
Conquering Hero Comes.’
Carpentaria rushed to the window. And then,
as he drew the curtains, all noticed for the first
time that the dawn had begun.
‘ What are you making that noise for ?’ he de¬
manded angrily from the balcony. The music
ceased abruptly.
‘We’re saluting the sun, sir,’ came the reply.
‘ It’s morning. We imagined that possibly you

had lost sight of the fact of our existence.’
‘ I had,’ said Carpentaria. ( However, you
can go!’
* Mr. Carpentaria,’ cried another voice—a
woman’s, firm and imperious. ‘ Open the front
door immediately and let me in. I insist.’
It was Pauline.
‘ Certainly, Miss Dartmouth,’ said Carpentaria
obediently. ‘ Kindly cut the rope which you will
see tied to the handle. I will tell the Soudanese
to admit you.’
And he did so.
And presently footsteps were heard on the
stairs, and both Pauline and Juliette came in.
‘ Rosie!’ exclaimed Pauline. The sisters were
clasped in each other’s arms.
‘Forgive me, dearest!’ Rosie entreated; and
they kissed.
‘ But what have you—-— ?’ Pauline began,
naturally mystified to the utmost.
‘Ah, Miss Dartmouth,’ said Carpentaria, ‘I
fear you must wait for enlightenment until you
can hear the whole story.’
‘ But the servants ?’ cried Pauline.
‘ I sent them to sleep in the staff-dormitories.
I said you wished it,’ answered Rosie, smiling.
‘ But why should I wish it ?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rosie. ‘When they
asked me that, I told them I didn’t know,’ she

smiled again faintly. ‘But Mr. Jetsam will ex¬
plain it all to you. I—I tried to help him, and
I have succeeded—I think.’
During this conversation, Juliette, with that
direct candour which frequently distinguishes
women in a crisis, had gone straight to Josephus
Ilam and seized his hand. She was assuring her¬
self that he was not hurt, when Mrs. Ilam once
more gave a sign with her eyelids. Carpentaria
resumed his position as helper.
‘ It was because I loved him,’ Carpentaria
spelt out for her, 1 that I tried to kill you—
twice.’
Carpentaria fell back. Then he regained his
self-command and, pushing his fingers through
his red-gold hair, he asked monosyllabically,
‘ Why ?’
And then he interpreted for her the answer to
his own question.
‘You worried Josephus. He wanted to get
rid of you.’
Josephus disengaged his hands from those of
Juliette.
‘ Mother!’ he moaned sadly, and then added,
‘ She is mad!’
But through Carpentaria Mrs. Ilam said:
* I am not mad. But my love has always been
too strong.’
‘ Did you know of this, Ilam ?’ Carpentaria

asked his partner solemnly.
‘Of course I did not,’ was the answer—‘not
till it was too late.’
‘ Then, why did you warn me up in the wheel ?’
‘ Because I suspected. I suspected my poor
mother was beginning to hate you, and I feared
that- I can’t say any more.’
Carpentaria, powerfully moved, walked out of
the room, and it was Pauline who followed him.
Mrs. Ilam’s eyes were now shut.
CHAPTER XXXI
UNISON
That summer was astoundingly fine and warm,

not to say tropical. But since it remains clearly
in the memory of all, especially of the London
water-companies, as a unique caprice on the part
of the English climate, there is no need to go
into details of its beauty. Towards the end of
September the weather was exceedingly lovely.
And of course the City prospered accordingly.
It had been thought that the record ‘gates’
during the great fetes of August would make the
September returns look meagre and feeble. Such,
however, was not the case. In the first week
of September over a million people paid fifty
thousand pounds at the turnstiles to enjoy the
charms of the City. And a water-famine in most
other parts of London did not impair their
pleasure, for I lam and Carpentaria had sunk their
own Artesian wells, and they had sunk them
deep enough. Consequently, the glorious lawns
of the Oriental Gardens and the turf of the
302
UNISON 303
cricket field kept a vivid green through that
solitary summer.
The consumption of multi-coloured liquids in
the cafes dotted about the gardens exceeded the
most sanguine estimates. It was stated that
during one of Carpentaria’s concerts twelve
thousand pints of Pilsen beer (the genuine article,
imported daily in casks from the Erste Pilsen
Actien-Brauerei, Pilsen) were consumed within
sight of the bandstand.
£ This,’ said Carpentaria emphatically, ‘ is suc¬
cess. No composer-conductor,’ he added, ‘has
ever before been able to say that he was listened
to by an audience that put away Pilsen beer at
the rate of a hundred pints a minute.’
And he was right. Success was written large
all over the place. Success shone on the faces of
the entire staff, and it shone particularly on the
face of Carpentaria, though he tried to pretend
that it was nothing to him. It was, naturally, a
great deal to him. He was the lion of London,
and he knew it. All his previous triumphs were
nothing in comparison with this triumph, which
was the triumph of his ideas as well as a personal
triumph.
Fifty amusement - mongers in London were
asking themselves why they had not thought of
building a City of Pleasure—and they were not
getting satisfactory replies to the conundrum!
One evening, towards the middle of Septem¬

ber, after a more than usually effective concert,
Carpentaria laid down his baton on the plush
cushion provided for its repose, and bowed and
bowed and bowed again, in response to the enthu¬
siastic plaudits, but with a somewhat pre-occupied
mien.
‘What’s up with the old man?’ a French-horn
player whispered to his mate.
‘ Dashed if I know !’ replied the second French-
horn-player. ‘ Unless he’s in love.’
‘ Well, he is,’ said the first. ‘ Everybody knows
that.’
They called him the old man, no doubt, because
his age was barely forty and because he looked
younger than any of them.
Carpentaria descended from his throne, smiling
absently at the applause of his band as he made
his way through them to the steps leading down
from the bandstand to the level of the gardens.
He had only to move a few paces in order to be
lost in the surging crowd. But before he could
do this, he heard a voice :
‘ Mr. Carpentaria.’
He turned sharply. It was a woman’s voice.
It was more—it was Pauline’s voice. Had she
come to meet him ? Impossible! That would
have been too much happiness. However, he
determined to ascertain, and he ascertained in his
usual direct manner.
UNISON 305
‘ Did you come specially to meet me ?’ he
demanded.
And she replied, in a low voice:
‘ Yes.’
‘ That was extremely kind of you,’ he said,
trembling with joy.
‘No,’ she protested. ‘ I had something to tell
you—and-’ She hesitated, and then stopped.
‘Suppose we take a little stroll,’ he suggested.
And she said, quite naturally :
‘ I should love to.’
* This woman is simply the divinest creature/
he told himself. ‘ She is not like other women.
She would like to go for a stroll with me, and she
does not pretend the contrary. I am a great
man, but I have done nothing, absolutely nothing,
to deserve her goodness.’
They crossed the gardens, with difficulty, in the
direction of the terrace. And around were the
light and laughter of the City—the brilliant
illuminated cafes and the sombre trees for a back¬
ground, and thousands of pretty toilettes and
thousands of men gazing at the pretty toilettes,
so attractive in the gloom under the starry sky.
A burst of minor music would come now and then
from some little cafe-orchestra, or the sound of
the popping of guns from a distant shooting-
gallery or the roar of a lion, forced unwillingly
to go through its performance in the menagerie.
20
3o6 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
Then, every woman in the gardens gave a little

start or a little shriek at the noise of the great
cannon which signalled the commencement of the
fireworks, and the rush to the terrace, where the
best view was to be obtained, became a stampede.
‘ Do you mean to go on to the terrace ?’ asked
Pauline.
‘ No, madam,’ said Carpentaria, teasingly. ‘ I
mean to go on to the foreshore of the river. The
tide is low—we shall be alone—we shall see
both the crowd and the fireworks ; and we shall
be secure from interruption.”
With one of his pass-keys he unlocked a gate
giving access to a tunnel leading down to the
river. They passed through, and he locked the
gate again. They arrived at the edge of the
stream just as the first cluster of rockets was
expanding itself in the firmament. The scene
was impressive, and the roaring cheers of the
serried crowd behind and above them did not
detract from its impressiveness.
‘ So you have something to tell me ?’ he
remarked, tapping his foot idly against a stone.
‘ I also have something to tell you.’
‘ Really ?’ she answered.
He examined her face and figure. She was
dressed in mourning, for Mrs. Ilam had died
within two days of the events set down in the
previous chapter, and Carpentaria thought that
UNISON 307
black had never suited any woman so well as it

suited Pauline. . . . There was something about
her face ... In short . . . Well, those who
have been through what Carpentaria was going
through will readily understand.
‘ And what are you going to tell me ?’ he
queried.
‘ It’s a message from cousin I lam,’ said Pauline.
‘ You haven’t seen him to-day, have you?’
‘ No. I’ve been very much alone to-day.
Juliette’s been away all day—I suppose preparing
for the wedding—there’s only a few days left
now.’
‘ Well,’ said Pauline. ‘ Cousin Ilam told me
to tell you they aren’t going to be married next
week.’
‘ What!’ cried Carpentaria, ‘ after all ? Why
not ?’
1 Because they were married this morning.
They’re already on their honeymoon.’
‘And Juliette has played this trick on me?’
murmured Carpentaria.
‘ In any case, the marriage would have had to
be very quiet/ said Pauline. * I fancy Cousin
Ilam didn’t particularly care for your notion of
having a section of your band to play at the
church. Anyhow, he wanted the affair absolutely
quiet. You know how nervous and self-conscious
he is.’
20—2
3o8 THE CITY OF PLEASURE
‘Now I come to think of it,’ Carpentaria said,

‘ Juliette did kiss me this morning rather fervently,
and I wondered why.’
‘You wonder no longer,’ observed Pauline,
smiling. ‘ It was just a little plot.’
‘ Extraordinary ! Most extraordinary !’ Car¬
pentaria exclaimed.
‘ I don’t think it’s quite so extraordinary as all
that!’ said Pauline.
‘You don’t know what I mean,’ Carpentaria
replied. ‘ I also have a message—for you. It is
from our friend Mr. Jetsam Ilam and your sister.
Have you seen Miss Rosie since this morning ?’
‘ No,’ said Pauline ; ‘ she went with Juliette.’
‘Exactly. She went with Juliette. And she
has done what Juliette has done. I was asked
by Mr. Jetsam Ilam to inform you that instead
of marrying your sister next week he has married
her this week. He is very sorry. He has a
perfect horror of publicity. In fact they chose
the registry office.’
‘ What a shame !’ cried Pauline. * What a
shame !’
‘ Ah,’ said Carpentaria, ‘ you didn’t mind
them deceiving me! But when it comes to
deceiving you-! It must have been a united
plot on the part of those two pairs of people to
deceive us two; and, I must say, they managed
the thing pretty well. Don’t you think so ?’
UNISON 309
‘ I think they’ve been horrid,’ said Pauline.
‘And we two are quite alone, for one solid
week—you in your house, and I in mine,’ said
Carpentaria.
There was a pause, and then he heard a sob.
‘You aren’t really crying, are you?’ he de¬
manded.
Pauline made no answer.
In crying she had lost herself. She had given
herself away—she had precipitated a crisis which,
in any event could not have been long postponed.
In a word, he tried to comfort her. You may
guess how he did it. You may guess whether
she objected. You may guess if he succeeded.
In a quarter of an hour she was telling him that
she had always liked him, that, formerly, she and
Rosie used to worship him—Rosie even more
than she—but that that sort of worship was
nothing compared to the feelings which she at
present entertained—et seg.
And the fireworks and the applause of the vast
crowd provided the kind of setting that Carlos
Carpentaria loved.
THE END.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD

■
'
Date Due
(«r CAT. NO J»3 233 PRINTED IN U.S.A.

PR 6003 ,E6 C5
Thec?WofrnPld' 1867-193 010101 000
n® ,c.!TY.°f pleasure : a fanta
o 1999 00 5469
TRENT UNIVERSITY
PR6003 .E6C5
Bennett, Arnold
The city of pleasure
148169

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nunc cognosco ex parte

(IN COLLABORATION WITH EDEN PHILLPOTTS.)

THE SINEWS OF WAR: A Romance.

I. OVER THE CITY - - - - i

XIV. ENTRY OF THE TWINS - 107

* Balloon Ascents every half-hour after three o’clock. Height of a

The sign was slightly askew, and the approach¬

the opening day, when the colossal organism ot

bought or leased the whole of the middle part of

Midway between the north and south entrances,

The occupants of the balloon could see every¬

thousand feet of rope had been paid out, and the

seemed to spurt out a swift tongue of flame in

you aren’t an artist, not a bit of one. You are an

_people don’t like it. We must think of our

fingering his long red moustache, and he, too,

* You know we have absolutely declined all

‘ I prefer not to think oi^Jt,’ said Carpentaria.

not require the assistance of interviewers. There’s

tion of 1900 was six hundred thousand. Do you

interview he was getting out of Carpentaria and

‘ Permit me to say, Mr. Smithers,’ Carpentaria

Soon the voyagers could perceive the excited

Smithers obediently followed, pushing after

scribble notes—quavers, crotchets, semibreves, and

Somewhat later on the same afternoon, in the

Certainly she spoilt him ; but, just as certainly, he

up in the balloon, mother — wastes a solid

‘ Anyway,’ said the mother, ‘ you 11 have the

* I’m off,’ said Josephus nervously.

That night the City of Pleasure was illuminated.

merry-go-rounds, ascended in the balloon, and

The four thousand chairs surrounding the band¬

owners of old-fashioned resorts trembled in their

were right or wrong, the indubitable fact is that

Now to see Carpentaria conduct was one of

composition. In the course of this masterpiece

came forward and shared the glory of Carpentaria.

could hear it everywhere. Carpentaria drew

I lam had come out by that door about midnight

THE BLACK BURDEN

‘ Curious !’ Carpentaria meditated as he retired

legs unaided? Impossible! I was once drunk,

< She’s mightily excited to-night,’ he murmured

in the night like the web of a gigantic spider, and

of importance in the best of all possible worlds,

Carpentaria dogged him with all the precautions

But I lam struggled onwards. And next they

had been taken to cover it. He dragged it slowly

With all possible speed he rushed to the

eyes on him in a sort of reproof. * It’s your

had ceased, and the Sunday morning was ex¬

time ; and with the breakfast came, as usual, the

People may read about crimes in newspapers all

danger that was surrounding him. He was not

Carpentaria’s table, that she would not permit

‘ Go and find her. Ask her to speak to me at

‘ When did you last see your mistress ?’

only kept presentable by the ceaseless efforts of

house by way of a window, when the door opened