The manager conducted Grayson to the Domino Room. The decor was fashionably elegant. Grayson thought it was a hit much. The seats were all upholstered in red velvet and the tables topped with marble. The corners of Grayson's mouth turned down slightly as he saw the people at the table they were heading for. They were all poufs. Their postures and affected gestures were unmistakable. But then, he had expected this. He had, after all, come to the court of the so-called 'Apostle of the Utterly Utter.'
Oscar Wilde was at the height of his success. The leader of the Aesthete movement, Wilde's belief was that art had no real use and existed only for its own sake. As such, claimed Wilde. art knew no morality. 'A book,' he said, 'is either written well or badly, it is not mural or immoral.' Grayson did not consider himself particularly competent to judge whether or not Wilde's books and plays were written well or not, he was content to leave that to the reviewers, but he had read Wilde's controversial novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and while he did not quite agree with the reports in the press that called it 'filthy.' it certainly addressed the question of morality. The character portrayed in it was completely immoral.
Grayson had no difficulty recognizing Oscar Wilde in the group. The man had been caricatured extensively in the press. He was the oldest one among the young men at the table. Grayson guessed his age at about forty. The author, poet, dramatist and lecturer was a large man, on the plump side, though Grayson thought he was a good deal slimmer than the newspapers portrayed him. He was not a bad- looking man, though his manner and the softness of his features were decidedly effeminate. Grayson knew he had a wife and two children. but his preferences seemed to lie in a less family- oriented direction. His manner of dress was elegant. He wore a dark, well-tailored coat and striped trousers, his silk cravat was tied perfectly, his hair was neatly combed and parted in the middle and he wore a fresh buttonhole. He looked every inch the gentleman, albeit an elaborately flamboyant one.
'Mr. Wilde.' Grayson said.
Wilde held up Grayson's card, which the manager of the cafe had given him, and glanced at it insouciantly. 'Inspector Grayson,' he said in an appealing, almost musical voice. 'It is not often that I receive a calling card from Scotland Yard. So tell me. Inspector, am Ito be inspected?'
The young man at his side tittered, setting off a small chorus of birdlike noises from the others. Grayson recognized Lord Alfred Douglas, the twenty-four year old son of the Marques of Queensberry. The son was not much like his sporting father. He was a pretty, spoiled-looking boy; in fact, he could easily have been Dorian Gray himself.
'I would like to ask you a few questions. Mr. Wilde, if Imay.' said Grayson.
'Goodness, a police interrogation.' Wilde said. ' I trust that I am not about to be arrested'?'
'Why. Mr. Wilde,” Grayson said, affecting an innocent tone, 'have you done anything to be arrested for?'
The playwright smiled. 'I suppose that would depend upon what one considers criminal,' he said. 'I can think of any number of reviewers who believe that I should be arrested for my work and others who feel that I should be arrested for my manner. Tell me. Inspector, in which class would you fall?'
'The working class. Mr. Wilde.' said Grayson.
'Oh, well done, Inspector!' Wilde said. 'I hardly expected to find wit in Scotland Yard.'
'It takes wit to do what we do, Mr. Wilde.” Grayson said. 'Perhaps not your sort of wit, but wit nonetheless.”
'I see. I take it you do not approve of me, Inspector Grayson,' Wilde said.
“I do not know enough about you personally to approve or disapprove.” said Grayson. 'I could conjecture, but then the law does not deal with conjecture. The law is concerned with proof, which may be very fortunate for you. On the other hand. if you were speaking of my disapproval as concerns your work. I am afraid that I must disappoint you. I quite enjoyed your play. Lady Windermere's Fan, and 1 found Dorian Gray quite interesting.'
'Indeed?' said Wilde. 'Interesting is a rather ambiguous word. You did not find it 'filthy' or 'immoral.' a 'dangerous novel,' as the newspapers called it?'
Grayson saw that Wilde's young cohorts were hanging on his every word, expecting to see him poignant the policeman with his wit. Perversely, Grayson decided to play out the game, if for no other reason than to deny them the pleasure of seeing him flustered.
'Didn't you yourself say that art was neither moral nor immoral?' Grayson said.
'I did, indeed,' said Wilde, a slight smile on his face, 'but then I was asking your opinion.'
'My opinion, since you ask,' said Grayson, 'is that with Dorian Gray, you seem to have contradicted yourself.'
'The well bred contradict other people.' Wilde said. 'The wise contradict themselves. But what an unusual reaction! Tell me, Inspector, just how did I manage to contradict myself?'
'Well, you've stated that art is neither moral nor immoral,” Grayson said. 'but in Dorian Gray, you have presented a young man who is utterly immoral, devoted only to his own pleasures and perverse desires, and in the portrait which ages in his stead. you clearly imply that it is not only age which results in the portrait's growing ugliness, but the immoral deeds committed by the ever youthful Gray: evil, as it were, having an obvious malforming effect upon the soul. A very Catholic idea, Mr Wilde, even a very moral one. And in the end of the story, Dorian Gray's sins finally catch up with him and he receives his, just desserts. One might well ask, how can a story be neither moral nor immoral, and yet still have a moral'?'
'Grayson, you positively overwhelm me!' Wilde said, beaming. 'I refuse to even try to trump such a refreshingly original review! There is clearly more to you than meets the eye. Would you care to join us'?'
'No, thank you, Mr. Wilde,' Grayson said. 'I am afraid I have a number of inquiries yet to make.'
'Well, then, I shall not waste any more of your time. How may I help you?'
'I understand you are familiar with the company currently playing the Lyceum.' Grayson said.
'Henry Irving's production of Becket?' Wilde said. 'Indeed, I am. Has there been some sort of trouble?”
'One of the young actresses has died,' said Grayson. 'A Miss Angeline Crewe. She collapsed on stage last night during a rehearsal. It seems she had not been well. The cause of death has not yet officially been determined and we are merely making some inquiries of her friends and co-workers, purely a routine matter.'
'How tragic,' Wilde said, 'but I fear I did not know that young woman. That is to say, I did not know her very well. She was an understudy, I believe. Rather too prim and proper for an actress. We exchanged greetings on occasion, but that is all.'
'Did she seem unwell to you at the time?' said Grayson.
'No, I would not say so,' Wilde said. 'A bit pale, perhaps, but then she was very fair complected.'
'Yes, that would follow,' Grayson said. 'It seems that she was quite anemic. You would not, by any chance, happen to know if she was a bleeder?'
'Not to my knowledge,” Wilde said.
'Apparently she was keeping company with a certain young man,' Grayson said. He consulted his notepad. 'A Mr. Hesketh.”
'Tony Hesketh?' Lord Douglas said. surprised.
'Yes, that is the name.' said Grayson. 'You know the young man?'
'Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do.' said Douglas. Grayson noticed Wilde give Douglas a sidelong look. 'I am surprised to hear that he was keeping company with… an actress.'
'Friend of yours. Rosie?' said Wilde, a touch too casually.
'I haven't seen him for some time,' said Douglas.
'It seems that no one has,' said Grayson. 'Any idea where I might find him, Lord Douglas?'
Douglas gave an elaborate shrug. 'The last time I saw Tony, he was otherwise engaged. Not with an actress. I mean.' He said 'actress' as if it were a distasteful word. 'He was with a dark, Mediterranean looking gentleman.'
'Mediterranean?' said Grayson. 'Could you describe him?'
'Tall, slim, black hair, swarthy. but in an elegant sort of way,' said Douglas. 'Well mannered and well dressed. A man of obvious means. He was foreign, a titled gentleman. He was a very striking looking man. I remember he wore a top hat and an opera cape. I do not recall his name.'
'When exactly was this, Lord Douglas?' Grayson said. 'Oh, I can't be sure,' said Douglas. 'Two weeks ago,