CHAPTER XI
When I began this autobiographical sketch of the last few weeks of my
existence, I had conceived, as I have already said, the notion of
making it chiefly a guide to conduct for my young disciple, Dale
Kynnersley. Not only was it to explain to him clearly the motives
which led to my taking any particular line of action with regard to
his affairs, and so enable me to escape whatever blame he might,
through misunderstanding, be disposed to cast on me, but also to
elevate his mind, stimulate his ambitions, and improve his morals. It
was to be a Manual of Eumoiriety. It was to be sweetened with
philosophic reflections and adorned with allusions to the lives of the
great masters of their destiny who have passed away. It was to have
been a pretty little work after the manner of Montaigne, with the
exception that it ran of its own accord into narrative form. But I am
afraid Lola Brandt has interposed herself between me and my design.
She had brought me down from the serene philosophic plane where I
could think and observe human happenings and analyse them and present
them in their true aspect to my young friend. She has set me down in
the thick of events--and not events such as the smiling philosopher is
in the habit of dealing with, but lunatic, fantastic occurrences with
which no system of philosophy invented by man is capable of grappling.
I can just keep my head, that is all, and note down what happens more
or less day by day, so that when the doings of dwarfs and captains,
and horse-tamers and youthful Members of Parliament concern me no
more, Dale Kynnersley can have a bald but veracious statement of fact.
And as I have before mentioned, he loves facts, just as a bear loves
honey.
I passed a quiet day or two in my hotel garden, among the sweet-peas,
and the roses, and the geraniums. There were little shady summer-
houses where one could sit and dream, and watch the blue sky and the
palms and the feathery pepper trees drooping with their coral berries,
and the golden orange-trees and the wisteria and the great gorgeous
splash of purple bougainvillea above the Moorish arches of the hotel.
There were mild little walks in the eucalyptus woods behind, where one
went through acanthus and wild absinthe, and here and there as the
path wound, the great blue bay came into view, and far away the snow-
capped peaks of the Atlas. There were warmth and sunshine, and the
unexciting prattle of the retired Colonels and maiden ladies. There
was a hotel library filled with archaic fiction. I took out
Ainsworth's "Tower of London," and passed a happy morning in the sun
renewing the thrills of my childhood. I began to forget the outer
world in my enchanted garden, like a knight in the Forest of
Broceliande.
Then came the letter from Tlemcen. The Lieutenant-Colonel commanding
the 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs d'Afrique had received my honoured
communication but regretted to say that he, together with all the
officers of the regiment, had severed their connection with Captain
Vauvenarde, and that they were ignorant of his present address.
This was absurd. A man does not resign from his regiment and within a
year or two disappear like a ghost from the ken of every one of his
brother officers. I read the letter again. Did the severance of
connection mean the casting out of a black sheep from their midst? I
came to the conclusion that it did. They had washed their hands of
Captain Vauvenarde, and desired to hear nothing of him in the future.
So I awoke from my lethargy, and springing up sent not for my shield
and spear, but for an "Indicateur des Chemins de Fer." I would go to
Tlemcen and get to the bottom of it. I searched the time-table and
found two trains, one starting from Algiers at nine-forty at night and
getting into Tlemcen at noon next day, and one leaving at six-fifty in
the morning and arriving at half-past ten at night. I groaned aloud.
The dealing unto oneself a happy life and portion did not include
abominable train journeys like these. I was trying to decide whether I
should travel all night or all day when the Arab chasseur of the hotel
brought me a telegram. I opened it. It ran:
"Starting for Algiers. Meet me.--LOLA."
It was despatched that morning from Victoria Station. I gazed at it
stupidly. Why in the world was Lola Brandt coming to join me in
Algiers? If she had wanted to do her husband hunting on her own
account, why had she put me to the inconvenience of my journey? Her
action could not have been determined by my letter about Anastasius
Papadopoulos, as a short calculation proved that it could not have
reached her. I wandered round and round the garden paths vainly
seeking for the motive. Was it escape from Dale? Had she, womanlike,
taken the step which she was so anxious to avoid--and in order to
avoid taking which all this bother had arisen--and given the boy his
dismissal? If so, why had she not gone to Paris or St. Petersburg or
Terra del Fuego? Why Algiers? Dale abandoned outright, the necessity
for finding her husband had disappeared. Perhaps she was coming to
request me, on that account, to give up the search. But why travel
across seas and continents when a telegram or a letter would have
sufficed? She was coming at any rate; and as she gave no date I
presumed that she would travel straight through and arrive in about
forty-eight hours. This reflection caused a gleam of sunshine to
traverse my gloom. I was not physically capable of performing the
journey to Tlemcen and back before her arrival. I could, therefore,
dream among the roses of the garden for another couple of days. And
when she came, perhaps she would like to go to Tlemcen herself and try
the effect of her woman's fascinations on the Lieutenant-Colonel and
officers of the 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs d'Afrique.
In any case, her sudden departure argued well for Dale's liberation.
If the rupture had occurred I was quite contented. That is what I had
wished to accomplish. It only remained now to return to London, while
breath yet stayed in my body, and lead him diplomatically to the feet
of Maisie Ellerton. Then I would have ended my eumoirous task, and my
last happy words would be a paternal benediction. But all the same, I
had set forth to find this confounded captain and did not want to be
hindered. The sportsman's instinct which, in my robust youth, had led
me to crawl miles on my belly over wet heather in order to get a shot
at a stag, I found, somewhat to my alarm, was urging me on this chase
after Captain Vauvenarde. He was my quarry. I resented interference.
Deer-stalking then, and man-stalking now, I wanted no petticoats in
the party. I worked myself up into an absurd state of irritability.
Why was she coming to spoil the sport? I had arranged to track her
husband down, reason with him, work on his feelings, telegraph for his
wife, and in an affecting interview throw them into each other's arms.
Now, goodness knows what would happen. Certainly not my beautifully
conceived /coup de theatre/.
"And she has the impertinence," I cried in my wrath, "to sign herself
'Lola'! As if I ever called her, or could ever be in a position to
call her 'Lola'! I should like to know," I exclaimed, hurling the
"Indicateur des Chemins de Fer" on to the seat of a summer-house,
built after the manner of a little Greek temple, "I should like to
know what the deuce she means by it!"
"Hallo! Hallo! What the devil's the matter?" cried a voice; and I
found I had disturbed from his slumbers an unnoticed Colonel of
British Cavalry.
"A thousand pardons!" said I. "I thought I was alone, and gave vent to
the feelings of the moment."
Colonel Bunnion stretched himself and joined me.
"That's the worst of this place," he said. "It's so liverish. One
lolls about and sleeps all day long, and one's liver gets like a
Strasburg goose's and plays Old Harry with one's temper. Why one
should come here when there are pheasants to be shot in England, I
don't know."
"Neither your liver nor your temper seem to be much affected,
Colonel," said I, "for you've been violently awakened from a sweet
sleep and are in a most amiable frame of mind."
He laughed, suggested exercise, the Briton's panacea for all ills, and
took me for a walk. When we returned at dusk, and after I had had tea
before the fire (for December evenings in Algiers are chilly) in one
of the pretty Moorish alcoves of the lounge, my good humour was
restored. I viewed our pursuit of Captain Vauvenarde in its right
aspect--that of a veritable Snark-Hunt of which I was the Bellman--and
the name "Lola" curled itself round my heart with the same grateful
sensation of comfort as the warm China tea. After all, it was only as
Lola that I thought of her. The name fitted her personality, which
Brandt did not. Out of "Brandt" I defy you to get any curvilinear
suggestion. I reflected dreamily that it would be pleasant to walk
with her among the roses in the sunshine and to drink tea with her in
dusky Moorish alcoves. I also thought, with an enjoyable spice of
malice, of what the retired Colonels and elderly maiden ladies would
have to say about Lola when she arrived. They should have a gorgeous
time.
So light-hearted did I become that, the next evening, while I was
dressing for dinner, I did not frown when the chasseur brought me up
the huge trilingual visiting-card of Professor Anastasius
Papadopoulos.
"Show the gentleman up," said I.
Rogers handed me my black tie and began to gather together discarded
garments so as to make the room tidy for the visitor. It was a
comfortable bed-sitting-room, with the bed in an alcove and a tiny
dressing-room attached. A wood fire burned on the hearth on each side
of which was an armchair. Presently there came a knock at the door.
Rogers opened it and admitted Papadopoulos, who forthwith began to
execute his usual manoeuvres of salutation. Rogers stood staring and
open-mouthed at the apparition. It took all his professional training
in imperturbability to enable him to make a decent exit. This
increased my good humour. I grasped the dwarf's hand.
"My dear Professor, I am delighted to see you. Pray excuse my
receiving you in this unceremonious fashion, and sit down by the
fire."
I hastily completed my toilette by stuffing my watch, letter-case,
loose change and handkerchief into my pockets, and took a seat
opposite him.
"It is I," said he politely, "who must apologise for this untimely
call. I have wanted to pay my respects to you since I arrived in
Algiers, but till now I have had no opportunity."
"Allow me," said I, "to disembarrass you of your hat."
I took the high-crowned, flat-brimmed thing which he was nursing
somewhat nervously on his knees, and put it on the table. He murmured
that I was "/Sehr aimable/."
"And the charming Monsieur Saupiquet, how is he?" I asked.
He drew out his gilt-embossed pocket-book, and from it extracted an
envelope.
"This," said he, handing it to me, "is the receipt. I have to thank
you again for regulating the debt, as it has enabled me to transact
with Monsieur Saupiquet the business on which I summoned him from
Toulon. He is the most obstinate, pig-headed camel that ever lived,
and I believe he has returned to Toulon in the best of health. No,
thank you," he added, refusing my offer of cigarettes, "I don't smoke.
It disturbs the perfect adjustment of my nerves, and so imperils my
gigantic combinations. It is also distasteful to my cats."
"You must miss them greatly," said I.
He sighed--then his face lit up with inspiration.
"Ah, signor! What would one not sacrifice for an idea, for duty, for
honour, for the happiness of those we love?"
"Those are sentiments, Monsieur Papadopoulos," I remarked, "which do
you infinite credit."
"And, therefore, I express them, sir," he replied, "to show you what
manner of man I am." He paused for a moment; then bending forward, his
hands on his little knees--he was sitting far back in the chair and
his legs were dangling like a child's--he regarded me intently.
"Would you be equally chivalrous for the sake of an idea?"
I replied that I hoped I should conduct myself /en galant homme/ in
any circumstances.
"I knew it," he cried. "My intuition is never wrong. An English
statesman is as fearless as Agamemnon, and as wise as Nestor. Have you
your evening free?"
"Yes," I replied wonderingly.
"Would you care to devote it to a perilous adventure? Not so perilous,
for I"--he thumped his chest--"will be there. But still /molto
gefahrlich/."
His black eyes held mine in burning intensity. So as to hide a smile I
lit a cigarette. I know not what little imp in motley possessed me
that evening. He seemed to hit me over the head with his bladder, and
counsel me to play the fool like himself, for once in my life before I
died. I could almost hear him speaking.
"Surely a crazy dwarf out of a nightmare is more entertaining company
than decayed Colonels of British Cavalry."
I blew two or three puffs of my cigarette, and met my guest's eager
gaze.
"I shall be happy to put myself at your disposal," said I. "May I ask,
without indiscretion--?"
"No, no," he interrupted, "don't ask. Secrecy is part of the gigantic
combination. /En galant homme/, I require of you--confidence."
With an irresistible touch of mockery I said: "Professor Papadopoulos,
I will be happy to follow you blindfold to the lair of whatever fire-
breathing dragon you may want me to help you destroy."
He rose and grasped his hat and made me a profound bow.
"You will not find me wanting in courage, Monsieur. There is another
small favour I would ask of you. Will you bring some of your visiting-
cards?"
"With pleasure," said I.
At that moment the gong clanged loudly through the hotel.
"It is your dinner-hour," said the dwarf. "I depart. Our rendezvous--"
"Let us have no rendezvous, my dear Professor," I interposed. "What
more simple than that you should do me the pleasure of dining with me
here? We can thus fortify ourselves with food and drink for our
adventure, and we can start on it comfortably together whenever it
seems good to you."
The little man put his head on one side and looked at me in an odd
way.
"Do you mean," he asked in a softened voice, "that you ask me to dine
with you in the midst of your aristocratic compatriots?"
"Why, evidently," said I, baffled. "It's only an ordinary table d'hote
dinner."
To my astonishment, tears actually spurted out of the eyes of the
amazing little creature. He took my hand and before I knew what he was
going to do with it he had touched it with his lips.
"My dear Professor!" I cried in dismay.
He put up a pudgy hand, and said with great dignity:
"I cannot dine with you, Monsieur de Gex. But I thank you from my
heart for your generous kindness. I shall never forget it to my dying
day."
"But----"
He would listen to no protests. "If you will do me the honour of
coming at nine o'clock to the Cafe de Bordeaux, at the corner of the
Place du Gouvernement, I shall be there. /Auf wiedersehen/, Monsieur,
and a thousand thanks. I beg you as a favour not to accompany me. I
couldn't bear it."
And, drawing a great white handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his
eyes, blew his nose, and disappeared like a flash through the door
which I held open for him.
I went down to dinner in a chastened mood. The little man had not
shown me before the pathetic side of the freak's life. By asking him
to dinner as if he were normal I had earned his eternal gratitude. And
yet, with a smile, which I trust the Recording Angel when he makes up
my final balance-sheet of good and evil will not ascribe to an
unfeeling heart, I could not help formulating the hope that his
gratitude would not be shown by presents of China fowls sitting on
eggs, Tyrolese chalets and bottles with ladders and little men inside
them. I did not feel within me the wide charity of Lola Brandt; and I
could not repress a smile, as I ate my solitary meal, at the perils of
the adventure to which I was invited. I had no doubt that it bore the
same relation to danger as Monsieur Saupiquet's sevenpence-halfpenny
bore to a serious debt.
Colonel Bunnion, a genial little red-faced man, with bulgy eyes and a
moustache too big for his body, who sat, also solitary, at the next
table to mine, suddenly began to utter words which I discovered were
addressed to me.
"Most amazing thing happened to me as I was coming down to dinner.
Just got out of the corridor to the foot of the stairs, when down
rushed something about three foot nothing in a devil of a top-hat and
butted me full in the pit of the stomach, and bounded off like a
football. When I picked it up I found it was a man--give you my word--
it was a man. About so high. Gave me quite a turn."
"That," said I, with a smile, "was my friend Professor Anastasius
Papadopoulos."
"A friend of yours?"
"He had just been calling on me."
"Then I wish you'd entreat him not to go downstairs like a six-inch
shell. I'll have a bruise to-morrow where the crown of his hat caught
me as big as a soup-plate."
I offered the cheerily indignant warrior apologies for my friend's
parabolic method of descent, and suggested Elliman's Embrocation.
"The most extraordinary part of it," he interrupted, "was that when I
picked him up he was weeping like anything. What was he crying about?"
"He is a sensitive creature," said I, "and he doesn't come upon the
pit of the stomach of a Colonel of British Cavalry every day in the
week."
He sniffed uncertainly at the remark for a second or two and then
broke into a laugh and asked me to play bridge after dinner. On the
two preceding evenings he and I had attempted to cheer, in this
manner, the desolation of a couple of the elderly maiden ladies. But I
may say, parenthetically, that as he played bridge as if he were
leading a cavalry charge according to a text-book on tactics, and as I
play card games in a soft, mental twilight, and as the two ladies were
very keen bridge players indeed, I had great doubts as to the success
of our attempts.
"I'm sorry," said I, "but I'm going down into the town to-night."
"Theatre? If so, I'll go with you."
The gallant gentleman was always at a loose end. Unless he could
persuade another human being to do something with him--no matter what
--he would joyfully have played cat's cradle with me by the hour--he
sat in awful boredom meditating on his liver.
"I'm not going to the theatre," I said, "and I wish I could ask you to
accompany me on my adventure."
The Colonel raised his eyebrows. I laughed.
"I'm not going to twang guitars under balconies."
The Colonel reddened and swore he had never thought of such a thing.
He was a perjured villain; but I did not tell him so.
"In what my adventure will consist I can't say," I remarked.
"If you're going to fool about Algiers at night you'd better carry a
revolver."
I told him I did not possess such deadly weapons. He offered to lend
me one. The two Misses Bostock from South Shields, who sat at the
table within earshot and had been following our conversation,
manifested signs of excited interest.
"I shall be quite protected," said I, "by the dynamic qualities of
your acquaintance, Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos, with whom I have
promised to spend the evening."
"You had better have the revolver," said the Colonel. And so bent was
he on the point, that after dinner he came to me in the lounge and
laid a loaded six-shooter beside my coffee-cup. The younger Miss
Bostock grew pale. It looked an ugly, cumbrous, devastating weapon.
"But, my dear Colonel," I protested, "it's against the law to carry
fire-arms."
"Law--what law?"
"Why the law of France," said I.
This staggered him. The fact of there being decent laws in foreign
parts has staggered many an honest Briton. He counselled a damnation
of the law, and finally, in order to humour him, I allowed him to
thrust the uncomfortable thing into my hip-pocket.
"Colonel," said I, when I took leave of him an hour later, "I have
armed myself out of pure altruism. I shan't be able to sit down in
peace and comfort for the rest of the evening. Should I accidentally
do so, my blood will be on your head."
