The Grey Wig: Stories and Novelettes

the calculus.

'How much money do you want?' he asked.

'I do not make bargains,' Denzil replied, his calm come back by this time. 'I came here to tender you a suggestion. It struck me that you might offer me a fiver for my trouble. Should you do so, I shall not refuse it.'

'You shall not refuse it-if you deserve it.'

'Good. I will come to the point at once. My suggestion concerns-Tom Mortlake.'

Denzil threw out the name as if it were a torpedo. Wimp did not move.

'Tom Mortlake,' went on Denzil, looking disappointed, 'had a sweetheart.' He paused impressively.

Wimp said, 'Yes?'

'Where is that sweetheart now?'

'Where, indeed?'

'You know about her disappearance?'

'You have just informed me of it.'

'Yes, she is gone-without a trace. She went about a fortnight before Mr. Constant's murder.'

'Murder? How do you know it was murder?'

'Mr. Grodman says so,' said Denzil, startled again.

'H'm! Isn't that rather a proof that it was suicide? Well, go on.'

'About a fortnight before the suicide, Jessie Dymond disappeared. So they tell me in Stepney Green, where she lodged and worked.'

'What was she?'

'She was a dressmaker. She had a wonderful talent. Quite fashionable ladies got to know of it. One of her dresses was presented at Court. I think the lady forgot to pay for it; so Jessie's landlady said.'

'Did she live alone?'

'She had no parents, but the house was respectable.'

'Good-looking, I suppose?'

'As a poet's dream.'

'As yours, for instance?'

'I am a poet; I dream.'

'You dream you are a poet. Well, well! She was engaged to Mortlake?'

'Oh, yes! They made no secret of it. The engagement was an old one. When he was earning 36s. a week as a compositor, they were saving up to buy a home. He worked at Railton and Hockes who print the New Pork Herald. I used to take my 'copy' into the comps' room, and one day the Father of the Chapel told me all about 'Mortlake and his young woman.' Ye gods! How times are changed! Two years ago Mortlake had to struggle with my calligraphy-now he is in with all the nobs, and goes to the 'At Homes' of the aristocracy.'

'Radical M.P.'s,' murmured Wimp, smiling.

'While I am still barred from the dazzling drawing-rooms, where beauty and intellect foregather. A mere artisan! A manual labourer!' Denzil's eyes flashed angrily. He rose with excitement. 'They say he always was a jabberer in the composing-room, and he has jabbered himself right out of it and into a pretty good thing. He didn't have much to say about the crimes of capital when he was set up to second the toast of 'Railton and Hockes' at the beanfeast.'

'Toast and butter, toast and butter,' said Wimp, genially. 'I shouldn't blame a man for serving the two together, Mr. Cantercot.'

Denzil forced a laugh. 'Yes; but consistency's my motto. I like to see the royal soul immaculate, unchanging, immovable by fortune. Anyhow, when better times came for Mortlake the engagement still dragged on. He did not visit her so much. This last autumn he saw very little of her.'

'How do you know?'

'I-I was often in Stepney Green. My business took me past the house of an evening. Sometimes there was no light in her room. That meant she was downstairs gossiping with the landlady.'

'She might have been out with Tom?'

'No, sir; I knew Tom was on the platform somewhere or other. He was working up to all hours organising the eight hours' working movement.'

'A very good reason for relaxing his sweethearting.'

'It was. He never went to Stepney Green on a week night.'

'But you always did.'

'No-not every night.'

'You didn't go in?'

'Never. She wouldn't permit my visits. She was a girl of strong character. She always reminded me of Flora Macdonald.'

'Another lady of your acquaintance?'

'A lady I know better than the shadows who surround me, who is more real to me than the women who pester me for the price of apartments. Jessie Dymond, too, was of the race of heroines. Her eyes were clear blue, two wells with Truth at the bottom of each. When I looked into those eyes my own were dazzled. They were the only eyes I could never make dreamy.' He waved his hand as if making a pass with it. 'It was she who had the influence over me.'

'You knew her, then?'

'Oh, yes. I knew Tom from the old New Pork Herald days, and when I first met him with Jessie hanging on his arm he was quite proud to introduce her to a poet. When he got on he tried to shake me off.'

'You should have repaid him what you borrowed.'

'It-it-was only a trifle,' stammered Denzil.

'Yes, but the world turns on trifles,' said the wise Wimp.

'The world is itself a trifle,' said the pensive poet. 'The Beautiful alone is deserving of our regard.'

'And when the Beautiful was not gossiping with her landlady, did she gossip with you as you passed the door?'

'Alas, no! She sat in her room reading, and cast a shadow-'

'On your life?'

'No; on the blind.'

'Always one shadow?'

'No, sir. Once or twice, two.'

'Ah, you had been drinking.'

'On my life, not. I have sworn off the treacherous wine-cup.'

'That's right. Beer is bad for poets. It makes their feet shaky. Whose was the second shadow?'

'A man's.'

'Naturally. Mortlake's, perhaps.'

'Impossible. He was still striking eight hours.'

'You found out whose shadow? You didn't leave a shadow of doubt?'

'No; I waited till the substance came out.'

'It was Arthur Constant.'

'You are a magician! You-you terrify me. Yes, it was he.'

'Only once or twice, you say?'

'I didn't keep watch over them.'

'No, no, of course not. You only passed casually. I understand you thoroughly.'

Denzil did not feel comfortable at the assertion.

'What did he go there for?' Wimp went on.

'I don't know. I'd stake my soul on Jessie's honour.'

'You might double your stake without risk.'

'Yes, I might! I would! You see her with my eyes.'

'For the moment they are the only ones available. When was the last time you saw the two together?'

'About the middle of November.'