Death at the Excelsior and Other Stories Page 6

  CONCEALED ART

  If a fellow has lots of money and lots of time and lots of curiosityabout other fellows' business, it is astonishing, don't you know, whata lot of strange affairs he can get mixed up in. Now, I have money andcuriosity and all the time there is. My name's Pepper--Reggie Pepper.My uncle was the colliery-owner chappie, and he left me the dickens ofa pile. And ever since the lawyer slipped the stuff into my hand,whispering "It's yours!" life seems to have been one thing afteranother.

  For instance, the dashed rummy case of dear old Archie. I first raninto old Archie when he was studying in Paris, and when he came back toLondon he looked me up, and we celebrated. He always liked me because Ididn't mind listening to his theories of Art. For Archie, you mustknow, was an artist. Not an ordinary artist either, but one of thosefellows you read about who are several years ahead of the times, andpaint the sort of thing that people will be educated up to by about1999 or thereabouts.

  Well, one day as I was sitting in the club watching the traffic comingup one way and going down the other, and thinking nothing inparticular, in blew the old boy. He was looking rather worried.

  "Reggie, I want your advice."

  "You shall have it," I said. "State your point, old top."

  "It's like this--I'm engaged to be married."

  "My dear old scout, a million con----"

  "Yes, I know. Thanks very much, and all that, but listen."

  "What's the trouble? Don't you like her?"

  A kind of rapt expression came over his face.

  "Like her! Why, she's the only----"

  He gibbered for a spell. When he had calmed down, I said, "Well then,what's your trouble?"

  "Reggie," he said, "do you think a man is bound to tell his wife allabout his past life?"

  "Oh, well," I said, "of course, I suppose she's prepared to find that aman has--er--sowed his wild oats, don't you know, and all that sort ofthing, and----"

  He seemed quite irritated.

  "Don't be a chump. It's nothing like that. Listen. When I came back toLondon and started to try and make a living by painting, I found thatpeople simply wouldn't buy the sort of work I did at any price. Do youknow, Reggie, I've been at it three years now, and I haven't sold asingle picture."

  I whooped in a sort of amazed way, but I should have been far morestartled if he'd told me he _had_ sold a picture. I've seen hispictures, and they are like nothing on earth. So far as I can make outwhat he says, they aren't supposed to be. There's one in particular,called "The Coming of Summer," which I sometimes dream about when I'vebeen hitting it up a shade too vigorously. It's all dots and splashes,with a great eye staring out of the middle of the mess. It looks as ifsummer, just as it was on the way, had stubbed its toe on a bomb. Hetells me it's his masterpiece, and that he will never do anything likeit again. I should like to have that in writing.

  "Well, artists eat, just the same as other people," he went on, "andpersonally I like mine often and well cooked. Besides which, my sojournin Paris gave me a rather nice taste in light wines. The consequencewas that I came to the conclusion, after I had been back a few months,that something had to be done. Reggie, do you by any remote chance reada paper called _Funny Slices_?"

  "Every week."

  He gazed at me with a kind of wistful admiration.

  "I envy you, Reggie. Fancy being able to make a statement like thatopenly and without fear. Then I take it you know the Doughnut family?"

  "I should say I did."

  His voice sank almost to a whisper, and he looked over his shouldernervously.

  "Reggie, I do them."

  "You what?"

  "I do them--draw them--paint them. I am the creator of the Doughnutfamily."

  I stared at him, absolutely astounded. I was simply dumb. It was thebiggest surprise of my life. Why, dash it, the Doughnut family was thebest thing in its line in London. There is Pa Doughnut, Ma Doughnut,Aunt Bella, Cousin Joe, and Mabel, the daughter, and they have allsorts of slapstick adventures. Pa, Ma and Aunt Bella are puregargoyles; Cousin Joe is a little more nearly semi-human, and Mabel isa perfect darling. I had often wondered who did them, for they wereunsigned, and I had often thought what a deuced brainy fellow the chapmust be. And all the time it was old Archie. I stammered as I tried tocongratulate him.

  He winced.

  "Don't gargle, Reggie, there's a good fellow," he said. "My nerves areall on edge. Well, as I say, I do the Doughnuts. It was that orstarvation. I got the idea one night when I had a toothache, and nextday I took some specimens round to an editor. He rolled in his chair,and told me to start in and go on till further notice. Since then Ihave done them without a break. Well, there's the position. I must goon drawing these infernal things, or I shall be penniless. The questionis, am I to tell her?"

  "Tell her? Of course you must tell her."

  "Ah, but you don't know her, Reggie. Have you ever heard of EuniceNugent?"

  "Not to my knowledge."

  "As she doesn't sprint up and down the joyway at the Hippodrome, Ididn't suppose you would."

  I thought this rather uncalled-for, seeing that, as a matter of fact, Iscarcely know a dozen of the Hippodrome chorus, but I made allowancesfor his state of mind.

  "She's a poetess," he went on, "and her work has appeared in lots ofgood magazines. My idea is that she would be utterly horrified if sheknew, and could never be quite the same to me again. But I want you tomeet her and judge for yourself. It's just possible that I am takingtoo morbid a view of the matter, and I want an unprejudiced outsideopinion. Come and lunch with us at the Piccadilly tomorrow, will you?"

  * * * * *

  He was absolutely right. One glance at Miss Nugent told me that thepoor old boy had got the correct idea. I hardly know how to describethe impression she made on me. On the way to the Pic, Archie had toldme that what first attracted him to her was the fact that she was soutterly unlike Mabel Doughnut; but that had not prepared me for whatshe really was. She was kind of intense, if you know what I mean--kindof spiritual. She was perfectly pleasant, and drew me out about golfand all that sort of thing; but all the time I felt that she consideredme an earthy worm whose loftier soul-essence had been carelessly leftout of his composition at birth. She made me wish that I had never seena musical comedy or danced on a supper table on New Year's Eve. And ifthat was the impression she made on me, you can understand why poor oldArchie jibbed at the idea of bringing her _Funny Slices_, andpointing at the Doughnuts and saying, "Me--I did it!" The notion wasabsolutely out of the question. The shot wasn't on the board. I toldArchie so directly we were alone.

  "Old top," I said, "you must keep it dark."

  "I'm afraid so. But I hate the thought of deceiving her."

  "You must get used to that now you're going to be a married man," Isaid.

  "The trouble is, how am I going to account for the fact that I can domyself pretty well?"

  "Why, tell her you have private means, of course. What's your moneyinvested in?"

  "Practically all of it in B. and O. P. Rails. It is a devilish goodthing. A pal of mine put me onto it."

  "Tell her that you have a pile of money in B. and O. P., then. She'lltake it for granted it's a legacy. A spiritual girl like Miss Nugentisn't likely to inquire further."

  "Reggie, I believe you're right. It cuts both ways, that spiritual gag.I'll do it."

  * * * * *

  They were married quietly. I held the towel for Archie, and aspectacled girl with a mouth like a rat-trap, who was something to dowith the Woman's Movement, saw fair play for Eunice. And then they wentoff to Scotland for their honeymoon. I wondered how the Doughnuts weregoing to get on in old Archie's absence, but it seemed that he hadbuckled down to it and turned out three months' supply in advance. Hetold me that long practice had enabled him to Doughnut almost withoutconscious effort. When he came back to London he would give an hour aweek to them and do them on his head. Pretty soft! It seemed to me thatthe marriage
was going to be a success.

  One gets out of touch with people when they marry. I am not much on thesocial-call game, and for nearly six months I don't suppose I sawArchie more than twice or three times. When I did, he appeared sound inwind and limb, and reported that married life was all to the velvet,and that he regarded bachelors like myself as so many excrescences onthe social system. He compared me, if I remember rightly, to a wart,and advocated drastic treatment.

  It was perhaps seven months after he had told Eunice that he endowedher with all his worldly goods--she not suspecting what the parcelcontained--that he came to me unexpectedly one afternoon with a face solong and sick-looking that my finger was on the button and I wasordering brandy and soda before he had time to speak.

  "Reggie," he said, "an awful thing has happened. Have you seen thepaper today?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "Did you read the Stock Exchange news? Did you see that some lunatichas been jumping around with a club and hammering the stuffing out ofB. and O. P.? This afternoon they are worth practically nothing."

  "By jove! And all your money was in it. What rotten luck!" Then Ispotted the silver lining. "But, after all, it doesn't matter so verymuch. What I mean is, bang go your little savings and all that sort ofthing; but, after all, you're making quite a good income, so whyworry?"

  "I might have known you would miss the point," he said. "Can't youunderstand the situation? This morning at breakfast Eunice got hold ofthe paper first. 'Archie,' she said, 'didn't you tell me all your moneywas in B. and O. P.?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Why?' 'Then we're ruined.' Now doyou see? If I had had time to think, I could have said that I hadanother chunk in something else, but I had committed myself, I haveeither got to tell her about those infernal Doughnuts, or else concealthe fact that I had money coming in."

  "Great Scot! What on earth are you going to do?"

  "I can't think. We can struggle along in a sort of way, for it appearsthat she has small private means of her own. The idea at present isthat we shall live on them. We're selling the car, and trying to getout of the rest of our lease up at the flat, and then we're going tolook about for a cheaper place, probably down Chelsea way, so as to benear my studio. What was that stuff I've been drinking? Ring foranother of the same, there's a good fellow. In fact, I think you hadbetter keep your finger permanently on the bell. I shall want allthey've got."

  * * * * *

  The spectacle of a fellow human being up to his neck in the consomme ispainful, of course, but there's certainly what the advertisements atthe top of magazine stories call a "tense human interest" about it, andI'm bound to say that I saw as much as possible of poor old Archie fromnow on. His sad case fascinated me. It was rather thrilling to see himwrestling with New Zealand mutton-hash and draught beer down at hisChelsea flat, with all the suppressed anguish of a man who has lethimself get accustomed to delicate food and vintage wines, and thinkthat a word from him could send him whizzing back to the old life againwhenever he wished. But at what a cost, as they say in the novels. Thatwas the catch. He might hate this new order of things, but his lipswere sealed.

  I personally came in for a good deal of quiet esteem for the way inwhich I stuck to him in his adversity. I don't think Eunice had thoughtmuch of me before, but now she seemed to feel that I had formed acorner in golden hearts. I took advantage of this to try and pave theway for a confession on poor old Archie's part.

  "I wonder, Archie, old top," I said one evening after we had dined onmutton-hash and were sitting round trying to forget it, "I wonder youdon't try another line in painting. I've heard that some of thesefellows who draw for the comic papers----"

  Mrs. Archie nipped me in the bud.

  "How can you suggest such a thing, Mr. Pepper? A man with Archie'sgenius! I know the public is not educated up to his work, but it isonly a question of time. Archie suffers, like all pioneers, from beingahead of his generation. But, thank Heaven, he need not sully hisgenius by stooping----"

  "No, no," I said. "Sorry. I only suggested it."

  After that I gave more time than ever to trying to think of a solution.Sometimes I would lie awake at night, and my manner towardsWilberforce, my man, became so distrait that it almost caused a rift.He asked me one morning which suit I would wear that day, and, by Jove,I said, "Oh, any of them. I don't mind." There was a most frightfulsilence, and I woke up to find him looking at me with such a dashedwounded expression in his eyes that I had to tip him a couple of quidto bring him round again.

  Well, you can't go on straining your brain like that forever withoutsomething breaking loose, and one night, just after I had gone to bed,I got it. Yes, by gad, absolutely got it. And I was so excited that Ihopped out from under the blankets there and then, and rang up oldArchie on the phone.

  "Archie, old scout," I said, "can the misses hear what I'm saying? Wellthen, don't say anything to give the show away. Keep on saying, 'Yes?Halloa?' so that you can tell her it was someone on the wrong wire.I've got it, my boy. All you've got to do to solve the whole problem isto tell her you've sold one of your pictures. Make the price as big asyou like. Come and lunch with me tomorrow at the club, and we'll settlethe details."

  There was a pause, and then Archie's voice said, "Halloa, halloa?" Itmight have been a bit disappointing, only there was a tremble in itwhich made me understand how happy I had made the old boy. I went backto bed and slept like a king.

  * * * * *

  Next day we lunched together, and fixed the thing up. I have never seenanyone so supremely braced. We examined the scheme from every angle andthere wasn't a flaw in it. The only difficulty was to hit on aplausible purchaser. Archie suggested me, but I couldn't see it. I saidit would sound fishy. Eventually I had a brain wave, and suggested J.Bellingwood Brackett, the American millionaire. He lives in London, andyou see his name in the papers everyday as having bought some paintingor statue or something, so why shouldn't he buy Archie's "Coming ofSummer?" And Archie said, "Exactly--why shouldn't he? And if he had hadany sense in his fat head, he would have done it long ago, dash him!"Which shows you that dear old Archie was bracing up, for I've heard himuse much the same language in happier days about a referee.

  He went off, crammed to the eyebrows with good food and happiness, totell Mrs. Archie that all was well, and that the old home was saved,and that Canterbury mutton might now be definitely considered as offthe bill of fare.

  He told me on the phone that night that he had made the price twothousand pounds, because he needed the money, and what was two thousandto a man who had been fleecing the widow and the orphan for forty oddyears without a break? I thought the price was a bit high, but I agreedthat J. Bellingwood could afford it. And happiness, you might say,reigned supreme.

  I don't know when I've had such a nasty jar as I got when Wilberforcebrought me the paper in bed, and I languidly opened it and this jumpedout and bit at me:

  BELLINGWOOD BRACKETT DISCOVERS ENGLISH GENIUS ----- PAYS STUPENDOUS PRICE FOR YOUNG ARTIST'S PICTURE ----- HITHERTO UNKNOWN FUTURIST RECEIVED L2,000

  Underneath there was a column, some of it about Archie, the rest aboutthe picture; and scattered over the page were two photographs of oldArchie, looking more like Pa Doughnut than anything human, and asmudged reproduction of "The Coming of Summer"; and, believe me,frightful as the original of that weird exhibit looked, thereproduction had it licked to a whisper. It was one of the ghastliestthings I have ever seen.

  Well, after the first shock I recovered a bit. After all, it was famefor dear old Archie. As soon as I had had lunch I went down to the flatto congratulate him.

  He was sitting there with Mrs. Archie. He was looking a bit dazed, butshe was simmering with joy. She welcomed me as the faithful friend.

  "Isn't it perfectly splendid, Mr. Pepper, to think that Archie's geniushas at last been recognized? How quiet he kept it. I had no idea thatMr. Brackett was even interested in h
is work. I wonder how he heard ofit?"

  "Oh, these things get about," I said. "You can't keep a good man down."

  "Think of two thousand pounds for one picture--and the first he hasever sold!"

  "What beats me," I said, "is how the papers got hold of it."

  "Oh, I sent it to the papers," said Mrs. Archie, in an offhand way.

  "I wonder who did the writing up," I said.

  "They would do that in the office, wouldn't they?" said Mrs. Archie.

  "I suppose they would," I said. "They are wonders at that sort ofthing."

  I couldn't help wishing that Archie would enter into the spirit of thething a little more and perk up, instead of sitting there looking likea codfish. The thing seemed to have stunned the poor chappie.

  "After this, Archie," I said, "all you have to do is to sit in yourstudio, while the police see that the waiting line of millionairesdoesn't straggle over the pavement. They'll fight----"

  "What's that?" said Archie, starting as if someone had dug a red-hotneedle into his calf.

  It was only a ring at the bell, followed by a voice asking if Mr.Ferguson was at home.

  "Probably an interviewer," said Mrs. Archie. "I suppose we shall get nopeace for a long time to come."

  The door opened, and the cook came in with a card. "'Renshaw Liggett,'"said Mrs. Archie "I don't know him. Do you, Archie? It must be aninterviewer. Ask him to come in, Julia."

  And in he came.

  My knowledge of chappies in general, after a fairly wide experience, isthat some chappies seem to kind of convey an atmosphere ofunpleasantness the moment you come into contact with them. RenshawLiggett gave me this feeling directly he came in; and when he fixed mewith a sinister glance and said, "Mr. Ferguson?" I felt inclined to say"Not guilty." I backed a step or two and jerked my head towards Archie,and Renshaw turned the searchlight off me and switched it onto him.

  "You are Mr. Archibald Ferguson, the artist?"

  Archie nodded pallidly, and Renshaw nodded, as much as to say that youcouldn't deceive him. He produced a sheet of paper. It was the middlepage of the _Mail_.

  "You authorized the publication of this?"

  Archie nodded again.

  "I represent Mr. Brackett. The publication of this most impudentfiction has caused Mr. Brackett extreme annoyance, and, as it mightalso lead to other and more serious consequences, I must insist that afull denial be published without a moment's delay."

  "What do you mean?" cried Mrs. Archie. "Are you mad?"

  She had been standing, listening to the conversation in a sort oftrance. Now she jumped into the fight with a vim that turned Renshaw'sattention to her in a second.

  "No, madam, I am not mad. Nor, despite the interested assertions ofcertain parties whom I need not specify by name, is Mr. Brackett. Itmay be news to you, Mrs. Ferguson, that an action is even now pendingin New York, whereby certain parties are attempting to show that myclient, Mr. Brackett, is non compos and should be legally restrainedfrom exercising control over his property. Their case is extremelyweak, for even if we admit their contention that our client did, on theeighteenth of June last, attempt to walk up Fifth Avenue in hispyjamas, we shall be able to show that his action was the result of anelection bet. But as the parties to whom I have alluded willundoubtedly snatch at every straw in their efforts to prove that Mr.Brackett is mentally infirm, the prejudicial effect of this publicationcannot be over-estimated. Unless Mr. Brackett can clear himself of thestigma of having given two thousand pounds for this extraordinaryproduction of an absolutely unknown artist, the strength of his casemust be seriously shaken. I may add that my client's lavish patronageof Art is already one of the main planks in the platform of the partiesalready referred to. They adduce his extremely generous expenditure inthis direction as evidence that he is incapable of a proper handling ofhis money. I need scarcely point out with what sinister pleasure,therefore, they must have contemplated--this."

  And he looked at "The Coming of Summer" as if it were a black beetle.

  I must say, much as I disliked the blighter, I couldn't help feelingthat he had right on his side. It hadn't occurred to me in quite thatlight before, but, considering it calmly now, I could see that a manwho would disgorge two thousand of the best for Archie's Futuristmasterpiece might very well step straight into the nut factory, and noquestions asked.

  Mrs. Archie came right back at him, as game as you please.

  "I am sorry for Mr. Brackett's domestic troubles, but my husband canprove without difficulty that he did buy the picture. Can't you, dear?"

  Archie, extremely white about the gills, looked at the ceiling and atthe floor and at me and Renshaw Liggett.

  "No," he said finally. "I can't. Because he didn't."

  "Exactly," said Renshaw, "and I must ask you to publish that statementin tomorrow's papers without fail." He rose, and made for the door. "Myclient has no objection to young artists advertising themselves,realizing that this is an age of strenuous competition, but he firmlyrefuses to permit them to do it at his expense. Good afternoon."

  And he legged it, leaving behind him one of the most chunky silences Ihave ever been mixed up in. For the life of me, I couldn't see who wasto make the next remark. I was jolly certain that it wasn't going to beme.

  Eventually Mrs. Archie opened the proceedings.

  "What does it mean?"

  Archie turned to me with a sort of frozen calm.

  "Reggie, would you mind stepping into the kitchen and asking Julia forthis week's _Funny Slices_? I know she has it."

  He was right. She unearthed it from a cupboard. I trotted back with itto the sitting room. Archie took the paper from me, and held it out tohis wife, Doughnuts uppermost.

  "Look!" he said.

  She looked.

  "I do them. I have done them every week for three years. No, don'tspeak yet. Listen. This is where all my money came from, all the moneyI lost when B. and O. P. Rails went smash. And this is where the moneycame from to buy 'The Coming of Summer.' It wasn't Brackett who boughtit; it was myself."

  Mrs. Archie was devouring the Doughnuts with wide-open eyes. I caught aglimpse of them myself, and only just managed not to laugh, for it wasthe set of pictures where Pa Doughnut tries to fix the electric light,one of the very finest things dear old Archie had ever done.

  "I don't understand," she said.

  "I draw these things. I have sold my soul."

  "Archie!"

  He winced, but stuck to it bravely.

  "Yes, I knew how you would feel about it, and that was why I didn'tdare to tell you, and why we fixed up this story about old Brackett. Icouldn't bear to live on you any longer, and to see you roughing ithere, when we might be having all the money we wanted."

  Suddenly, like a boiler exploding, she began to laugh.

  "They're the funniest things I ever saw in my life," she gurgled. "Mr.Pepper, do look! He's trying to cut the electric wire with thescissors, and everything blazes up. And you've been hiding this from meall that time!"

  Archie goggled dumbly. She dived at a table, and picked up a magazine,pointing to one of the advertisement pages.

  "Read!" she cried. "Read it aloud."

  And in a shaking voice Archie read:

  You think you are perfectly well, don't you? You wake up in the morning and spring out of bed and say to yourself that you have never been better in your life. You're wrong! Unless you are avoiding coffee as you would avoid the man who always tells you the smart things his little boy said yesterday, and drinking SAFETY FIRST MOLASSINE for breakfast, you cannot be Perfectly Well.

  It is a physical impossibility. Coffee contains an appreciable quantity of the deadly drug caffeine, and therefore----

  "I wrote _that_," she said. "And I wrote the advertisement of theSpiller Baby Food on page ninety-four, and the one about the PreeminentBreakfast Sausage on page eighty-six. Oh, Archie, dear, the torments Ihave been through, fearing that you would so
me day find me out anddespise me. I couldn't help it. I had no private means, and I didn'tmake enough out of my poetry to keep me in hats. I learned to writeadvertisements four years ago at a correspondence school, and I've beendoing them ever since. And now I don't mind your knowing, now that youhave told me this perfectly splendid news. Archie!"

  She rushed into his arms like someone charging in for a bowl of soup ata railway station buffet. And I drifted out. It seemed to me that thiswas a scene in which I was not on. I sidled to the door, and slidforth. They didn't notice me. My experience is that nobody everdoes--much.