brother of mine just because he'd been seen at a night club with a girl who was considered a bit fast. Wouldn't listen to any excuses—just threw him out of the house and out of the business, and hasn't even mentioned his name since. That's the sort of puritan he is.'
Mr. Tanfold made sympathetic noises with his tongue, while the area of flesh under the front of his mauve shirt which might by some stretch of imagination have been described as his bosom warmed with the glowing ecstasy of a dog sighting a new and hitherto undreamed-of lamp-post.
'When are you making this trip to Paris, old man?' he asked enviously.
'At the end of next week, I hope,' said the unregenerate scion of the house of Tombs. 'It all depends on how soon I can get my business finished. I've got to go to Birmingham on Friday to see some manufacturers, worse luck—and that'll probably be even deadlier than London.'
Mr. Tanfold's head hooked forward on his neck, and his eyes expanded.
'What's a coincidence?'
'Why, your going to Birmingham. And you think it's a deadly place! Haven't you ever heard of Gilbert Tanfold?'
Mr. Tombs nodded.
'Sells pictures, doesn't he? Yes, I've had some of 'em. I didn't think they were so hot.'
Mr. Tanfold was so happy that this aspersion on his Art glanced off him like a pea off a tortoise.
'You can't have had any of his good ones,' he said. 'He keeps those for people he knows personally. I met him last week, and he showed me pictures . . .' Mr. Tanfold went into details which eclipsed even his adventures in Paris. 'The coincidence is,' he wound up, 'that I've got an invitation to go to Birmingham on Friday myself and visit his studio.'
Mr. Tombs swallowed so that his Adam's apple jiggered up and down.
'Gosh,' he said jealously, 'that ought to be interesting. I wish I had your luck.'
Tanfold's face lengthened commiseratingly, as if the thought that his new-found friend would be unable to share his good fortune had taken away all his enthusiasm for the project. And then, as if the solution had only just struck him, he brightened again.
'But why shouldn't you?' he demanded. 'I said we'd pool our resources, and I ought to be able to arrange it. Now, suppose we go to Birmingham together—that is, if you don't think I'm thrusting myself on you too much——'
And that part also was absurdly easy; so that Mr. Gilbert Tanfold returned to his more modest hotel much later that night with his heart singing the happy song of a vulture diving on a particularly fruity morsel of carrion. He had not even had to devise any pretext to induce the simple Tombs to travel to Birmingham—Mr. Tombs had already planned the trip in his itinerary with a thoughtfulness which almost suggested that he had foreseen Mr. Tanfold's need. And yet, once again, this obvious explanation never occurred seriously to Gilbert Tanfold. He preferred to believe in miracles wrought for his benefit by a kindly Providence, which was a disastrous error for him to make.
The rest of his preparations proceeded with the same smoothness of routine. They went to Birmingham together on the Friday, and kept the steward busy on the Pullman throughout the journey. In Birmingham they had lunch together, diluted with more liquor. By the time they were ready for their visit to the studios of G. Tanfold & Co., Mr, Tanfold estimated that his companion was in an ideal condition to enjoy his experience. On arrival they were informed, most unveraciously, that urgent business had called Mr. Tanfold himself to London, but he had arranged that they should have the free run of the premises. The entertainment offered, it is sufficient to record, was one in which Mr. Tanfold believed he had surpassed himself as an impresario of impropriety.
Mr. Tombs, with remarkable fortune, was able to conclude his business on the
