CHAPTER XI.
_In Clover._
After picking up his belongings at the outfitter's, two smart Gladstonebags with "P. A." nicely painted on them, Philip stopped his cab atSomerset House. He experienced no difficulty in reaching the properdepartment for stamping documents, and thus giving them legalsignificance.
An official glanced at Isaacstein's contract note, and then looked atPhilip, evidently regarding him as a relative or youthful secretary ofthe "Philip Anson, Esq., Pall Mall Hotel," whose name figured on thepaper.
"I suppose you only want this to be indicated?" he said.
"Yes," agreed Philip, who had not the remotest idea what he meant.
"Sixpence," was the curt rejoinder.
Philip thought he would be called on to pay many pounds--some amount inthe nature of a percentage of the sum named in the agreement. Heproduced the coin demanded, and made no comment. With stamp or without,he knew that Isaacstein would go straight in this preliminaryundertaking. A single glimpse of the monster diamond in his pocket hadmade that quite certain.
For the rest, he was rapidly making out a plan which should secure hisinterests effectually. He hoped, before the day was out, to have set onfoot arrangements which would free him from all anxiety.
From Somerset House he drove to the Pall Mall Hotel. A gigantic hallporter, looking like a youthful major-general in undress uniform,received him with much ceremony and ushered him to the office, where anurbane clerk instantly classed him as the avant courier of an Americanfamily.
"I want a sitting room and bedroom en suite," said Philip.
"One bedroom?" was the surprised query.
"Yes."
"How many of you are there, then?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
The clerk fumbled with the register. Precocious juveniles were notunknown to him, but a boy of Philip's type had not hitherto arisen overhis horizon.
"A sitting room and a bedroom en suite?" he repeated.
"Exactly."
The clerk was disconcerted by Philip's steady gaze.
"On what floor?" he asked.
"Really," said Philip, "I don't know. Suppose you tell me whataccommodation you have. Then I will decide at once."
The official, who was one of the most skilled hotel clerks in London,found it ridiculous to be put out of countenance by a mere boy, whocould not be a day older than seventeen, and might be a good deal less.He cast a critical eye on Philip's clothing, and saw that, while it wasgood, it had not the gloss of Vere de Vere.
He would paralyze him at one fell blow, little dreaming that the otherread his glance and knew the exact mental process of his reasoning.
"There is a good suite vacant on the first floor, but it contains adressing room and bath room," he said, smiling the smile of a veryknowing person.
"That sounds all right. I will take it."
"Ah, yes. It costs five pounds a day!"
Each of the six words in that portentous sentence contained a note ofadmiration that swelled out into a magnificent crescendo. It was averbal avalanche, beneath which this queer youth should be crushed intothe very dust.
"Five pounds a day!" observed Philip, calmly. "I suppose there would bea reduction if taken for a month?"
"Well--er--during the season it is not--er--usual to----"
"Oh, very well. I can easily arrange for a permanency later if I thinkfit. What number is the suite, please, and will you kindly have myluggage sent there at once?"
The clerk was demoralized, but he managed to say:
"Do you quite understand the terms--thirty-five pounds a week!"
"Yes," said Philip. "Shall I pay you a week in advance? I can give younotes, but it will oblige me if you take a check, as I may want theready money in my possession."
Receiving a faint indication that, under the circumstances, a checkwould be esteemed a favor, Philip whipped out his check book, filled ina check to the hotel, and did not forget to cross it "ac. payee."
The clerk watched him with an amazement too acute for words. He producedthe register and Philip signed his name. He was given a receipt for thepayment on account, and then asked to be shown to his rooms.
A boy smaller, but not younger, than himself--a smart page, who listenedto the foregoing with deep interest--asked timidly whether the guestwould go by the stairs or use the elevator.
"I will walk," said Philip, who liked to ascertain his bearings.
The palatial nature of the apartments took him by surprise when hereached them. Although far from being the most expensive suite in thehotel, the surroundings were of a nature vastly removed from anythinghitherto known to him.
Even the charming house he inhabited as a child in Dieppe contained nosuch luxury. His portmanteau followed quickly, and a valet entered.Philip's quick ears caught the accent of a Frenchman, and the boy spoketo the man in the language of his country, pure and undefiled by thebarbarisms of John Bull.
They were chatting about the weather, which, by the way, ever since thenineteenth of March had been extraordinarily fine, when there was aknock at the door and the manager entered.
The clerk found the situation too much for him. He had appealed to ahigher authority.
Even the suave and diplomatic Monsieur Foret could not conceal theastonishment that leaped to his eyes when he saw the occupant of SuiteF.
"I think you will find these rooms very comfortable," he said, for lackof aught better. A commissionaire was already on his way to the bank toask if the check was all right.
"Are you the manager?" asked Philip, who was washing his hands.
"Yes."
"I am glad you called. One of your clerks seemed to be taken abackbecause a youngster like me engaged an expensive suite. I suppose theproceeding is unusual, but there is no reason why it should createexcitement. It need not be commented on, for instance?"
"No, no. Of course not."
"Thank you very much. I have a special reason for wishing to live atthis hotel. Indeed, I have given this address for certain importantdocuments. Will you kindly arrange that I may be treated like anyordinary person?"
"I hope the clerk was not rude to you?"
"Not in the least. I am only anxious to prevent special notice beingtaken of me. You see, if others get to know I am living here alone, Iwill be pointed out as a curiosity, and that will not be pleasant."
The request was eminently reasonable. The manager assured him thatstrict orders would be given on the point instantly, though he was quitecertain, in his own mind, that inquiry would soon be made for thisremarkable youth, perhaps by the police.
"You can leave us," said Philip to the valet in French.
Now the chance use of that language, no less than his perfect accent,went a long way toward removing the manager's suspicions. A boy who wasso well educated must be quite out of the common. Perhaps someeccentric parent or guardian encouraged him to act independently thusearly in life. He might be the son of a rich man coming to London for aspecial course of study. The name, Anson, was an aristocratic one. Buthis clothes--they were odd. Good enough, but not the right thing.
"Will you oblige me by recommending a good tailor?" said Philip. "I needa complete outfit of wearing apparel, and it will save me a lot oftrouble if somebody will tell me exactly what to buy and where to buyit."
His uncanny trick of thought reading disconcerted the manager greatly.Undoubtedly the boy was a puzzle. Never had this experienced man of theworld met anyone more self-possessed, more direct, and yet, with it all,exceedingly polite.
"I take it that you want the best?" he inquired, pleasantly.
"Yes."
"Are you lunching in the hotel?"
"I would like something sent here, if you please, and, there again, youradvice will be most gratefully accepted."
The manager felt that a generation was growing up of which he knewnothing, but he simply answered:
"I will see to it. Do you--er--take wine?"
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Philip laughed, that pleasant whole-souled laugh of his which instantlysecured him friends.
"Not yet, Monsieur----"
"Foret is my name."
"Well, Monsieur Foret, I am far too young as yet for either wine ortobacco. I promised my mother I would touch neither until I amtwenty-one, and I will keep my word. I think I would like some _cafe aulait_."
"I understand. Your _dejeuner_ will be sent up in ten minutes. By thetime you have finished, I will have people here from two or threeestablishments who will meet all your requirements in the shape ofclothes and the rest."
An hour's talk and the payment of checks on account worked wonders.Before many days had passed, Philip was amply provided with raiment. Hispresence in the hotel, too, attracted no comment whatever. People whosaw him coming or going, instantly assumed that he was staying with hispeople, while the manager took care that gossip among the employees waspromptly stopped.
As for the ragged youth with the diamonds, he was forgotten, apparently.The newspapers dropped him, believing, indeed, that Isaacstein hadworked some ingenious advertising dodge on his own account, and Messrs.Sharpe & Smith never dreamed of looking for the lost Philip Anson, thederelict from Johnson's Mews, in the Pall Mall Hotel, the most luxuriousand expensive establishment in London.
That afternoon, Philip visited the Safe Deposit Company. He had littledifficulty, of course, in securing a small strong-room. He encounteredthe wonted surprise at his youth, but the excellent argument of abanking account and the payment of a year's rent in advance soon clearedthe air.
He transferred four of his portmanteaux to this secure environment--thefifth was sent to his hotel. When the light failed, he drove to the EastEnd, and made a round of pawnbrokers' shops. Although some of thetickets were time-expired, he recovered nearly all his mother'sbelongings, excepting her watch.
The odd coincidence recalled the inspector's implied promise that heshould receive one as a recognition of his gallantry.
How remote, how far removed from each other, the main events in his lifeseemed to be at this eventful epoch. As he went westward in a hansom, hecould hardly bring himself to believe that barely twenty-four hours hadelapsed since he traveled to the Mile End Road in company with Mrs.Wrigley.
And the curious thing was that he felt in no sense awed by thepossession of thousands of pounds and the tenancy of palatial chambersin a great hotel. His career had been too checkered, its recentdevelopments too stupendous, to cause him any undue emotion. Existence,for the hour, was a species of well-ordered dream, in which imaginationwas untrammeled save by the need to exercise his wits in order to keepthe phantasy within the bounds, not of his own brain, but of othermen's.
At the hotel he found the French valet setting forth a shirt. The manexplained that he required a spare set of studs and links.
This reminded Philip that there was still a good deal of shopping to bedone. He was about to leave the room for the purpose, when the valetsaid:
"Another portmanteau has arrived for monsieur. Will you be pleased tounlock it?"
"No," said Philip. "It must remain untouched." He smiled at the thoughtof the sensation his tattered rags and worn boots would make in thatplace. Yet, just a week ago, he passed through the street outside,bound in the pitiless rain for Johnson's Mews, and bent on suicide.
He walked into Regent Street and made a number of purchases, notforgetting some books. A double silver-mounted photograph stand caughthis eye. It would hold the two best pictures he possessed of his fatherand mother, so he bought it. He also acquired a dispatch box in which hecould store his valuables, both jewelry and documents, for he had quitea number of receipts, letters and other things to safeguard now, and hedid not wish servants' prying eyes to examine everything belonging tohim.
When alone in his room, he secured the album and locked that specialportmanteau again, after stowing therein the letters found beneath Mrs.Anson's pillow. Soon his mother's dear face smiled at him from abeautiful border of filigree silver. The sight was pleasant to him,soothing to his full mind. In her eyes was a message of faith, of trust,of absolute confidence in the future.
It was strange that he thought so little of his father at this time, butthe truth was that his childhood was passed so much in his mother'scompany, and they were so inseparable during the last two years, thatmemories of his father were shadowy.
Yet the physiognomist would have seen that the boy owed a great deal ofhis strength of character and well-knit frame to the handsome, stalwartman whose name he bore.
Philip loved his mother on the compensating principle that persons ofopposite natures often have an overpowering affinity for each other. Heresembled her neither in features nor in the more subtle traits ofcharacter.
After a dinner the excellence of which was in nowise diminished by lackof appreciation on his part, he undertook a pilgrimage of curiosity towhich he had previously determined to devote the evening.
He wondered unceasingly to whom he was indebted for the good meals hehad enjoyed in prison. Now he would endeavor to find out.
A hansom took him to Holloway, but the first efforts of the driverfailed to discover the whereabouts of the "Royal Star Hotel."
At last Philip recollected the warder's added direction--"opposite."
He dismissed the cab and walked to the prison entrance. Directly infront he saw a small restaurant called the "Star." Its titularembellishments were due to the warder's gift of humor.
He entered. A woman was knitting at a cash desk.
"Until yesterday," he said, "you sent food regularly to a boy namedAnson, who was confined in the prison----"
"Yes," interrupted the lady. "I on'y heard this mornin' that he was letout."
"Would you mind telling me who paid the bill? I suppose it was paid?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, it was overpaid," was the reply. "You see,the pore lad was remanded for a week, an' Mr. Judd, a man 'oo lives inthe Farringdon Road, kem 'ere an' arranged for 'is week's board. Hav' yeheard wot 'appened to 'im?"
Philip's heart was in his mouth, but he managed to answer that the boywas all right; there was no charge against him. Then he escaped intothe street. The one man he had forgotten was his greengrocer friend, whohad indeed acted the part of the Good Samaritan.
There was some excuse for this, but the boy's abounding good naturewould admit of none. He hastened to Farringdon Road with the utmostspeed, and found his fat friend putting up the shutters of his shop.
The restaurant next door was open. Philip approached quietly.
"Good-evening, Mr. Judd," he said, holding out his hand.
"Good-evenin', sir," said the greengrocer, his eyes revealing not theremotest idea of the identity of the smart, young gentleman whoaddressed him so familiarly.
"Don't you know me, Mr. Judd?"
"Well, sir, I can't exactly bring to min'----"
"I suppose the good fare you provided for me at Holloway has so alteredmy appearance that you fail to recognize me again?"
"Wot! Ye don't mean to s'y----'Ere, Eliza, this young gent is the lad Iwas a-tellin' you of. Remanded till Saturday, you was. I saw in thepiper last night. Well, there, I'm done!"
By this time Philip was inside the shop, and the stout greengrocer andhis equally stout spouse were gazing open-mouthed at this well-dressedyouth who had supplanted the thin tatterdemalion so much discussed bythem and their neighbors.
Judd and the restaurant keeper were the only men in the locality whocould claim actual acquaintance with the boy whose strange proceedingsas reported by the newspapers made London gape. Indeed, both men hadbeen interviewed by police and reporters many times. They were livinglinks with the marvelous, a pedestal of common stone for an aerialphantasy.
And now, here he was, back again, dressed like a young gentleman, andhailing Judd as a valued friend. No wonder the greengrocer lost hisbreath and his power of speech.
But Philip was smiling at him and talking.
"You were the one man out of many, Mr.
Judd, who believed in me, andeven stuck up for me when you saw me led through the street by apoliceman to be imprisoned on a false charge. I did not know until anhour ago that I was indebted to you for an abundance of excellent foodwhile I was remanded in prison. I will not offer to refund you the moneyyou spent. My gratitude will take another form, which you will learn ina few days. But I do want to pay you the ninepence I borrowed. Would youmind asking the proprietor of the restaurant to step in here for amoment? Don't say I am present. I wish to avoid a crowd, you know."
Judd had time to collect his scattered ideas during this long speech.
"Blow the ninepence!" he cried. "Wot's ninepence for the treat I've 'ad?People I never set eyes on in my life afore kem 'ere an' boughtcabbiges, or taters, or mebbe a few plums, an' then they'd stawt: 'Mr.Judd, wasn't it you as stood a dinner to the Boy King of Diamonds?'That's wot they christened yer, sir. Or it's: 'Mr. Judd, cahn't yer tellus w'ere that young Morland lives? Sure-ly yer know summat abaht 'im oryer wouldn't hev paid 'is bill.' Oh, it 'as bin a beano. Hasn't it,Eliza?"
"But we never let on a word," put in Mrs. Judd. "We was close as wax. Wetold none of 'em as how Mr. Judd went to 'Olloway that night, did we,Willyum?"
"Not us. Ye see, I took a fancy to ye. If ahr little Johnnie 'ad lived'e'd ha' bin just your ige. Fifteen, aren't ye?"
At last Philip got him persuaded to summon his neighbor. Judd did sowith an air of mystery that caused the bald-headed restaurateur tobelieve that a burglar was bottled up in the greengrocer's cellar.
Once inside the shop, however, Mr. Judd's manner changed.
"Wot did I tell yer, Tomkins?" he cried, elatedly. "Wot price me as ajudge of karak-ter! 'Ere's Mr. Morland come back to p'y me thatninepence. Eh, Tomkins! 'Oo's right now, old cock?"
Philip solemnly counted out the money, which he handed to his delightedbacker.
"There was a bet, too," he said.
"Ra-ther!" roared Judd. "Two bob, w'ich I've pide. Out wi' four bob,Tomkins. Lord lumme, I'll stand treat at the George for this!"
"There's something funny in the kise," growled Tomkins, as heunwillingly produced a couple of florins.
"I was sure you would see the joke at once," said Philip. "Good-by, Mr.Judd. Good-by, ma'am. You will hear from me without fail within afortnight."
He was gone before they realized his intention. They saw him skiprapidly up the steps leading into Holborn, and London had swallowed himforever so far as they were concerned.
Ten days later a firm of solicitors wrote to the greengrocer to informhim that a client of theirs had acquired the freehold of his house andshop, which property, during the life of either himself or his wife,would be tenantable free of rent, rates or taxes.
So Mr. Judd's investment of ninepence, plus the amount expended oneatables at the Royal Star Hotel, secured to him and his wife an annualrevenue of one hundred and seventy-five pounds.
And Tomkins never heard the last of it.