CHAPTER III
Six months had elapsed since the _Lotus Blossom_ had steamed out of theGieranger Fjord and its owner had taken his last look at the littlevillage of Merok. During that interval Browne had endeavoured to amusehimself to the best of his ability. In spite of Maas's insinuation tothe contrary, he had visited Russia; had shot bears in the company andon the estates of his friend Demetrovitch; had passed south to theCrimea, and thence, by way of Constantinople, to Cairo, where, chancingupon some friends who were wintering in the land of the Pharaohs, hehad been persuaded into engaging a _dahabiyeh_, and had endured thetedious river journey to Luxor and back in the company of a charmingFrench countess, an Austrian archduke, a German diplomatist, and anindividual whose accomplishments were as notorious as his tastes werevaried. A fortnight in Monte Carlo and a week in Paris had succeededthe Nile trip; and now the first week in March found him, free ofengagements, ensconced in the luxurious smoking-room of the MonolithClub in Pall Mall, an enormous cigar between his teeth, and a feelingof regret in his heart that he had been persuaded to leave the warmthand sunshine of the favoured South for what he was now enduring. Themorning had been fairly bright, but the afternoon was cold, foggy, anddreary in the extreme. Even the most weather-wise among the menstanding at the windows, looking out upon the street, had to admit thatthey did not know what to make of it. It might only mean rain, theysaid; it might also mean snow. But that it was, and was going to bestill more, unpleasant, nobody seemed for an instant to doubt. Brownestretched himself in his chair beside the fire, and watched the flamesgo roaring up the chimney, with an expression of weariness upon hisusually cheerful countenance.
"What a fool you were, my lad, to come back to this sort of thing!" hesaid to himself. "You might have known the sort of welcome you wouldreceive. In Cannes the sun has been shining on the Boulevard de laCroisette all day. Here it is all darkness and detestation. I've agood mind to be off again to-night; this sort of thing would give thehappiest man the blues."
He was still pursuing this train of thought, when a hand was placedupon his shoulder, and, turning round, he discovered Jimmy Footestanding beside him.
"The very man I wanted to see," said Browne, springing to his feet andholding out his hand. "I give you my word, old fellow, you couldn'thave come at a more opportune moment. I was in the act of setting offto find you."
"My dear old chap," replied his friend, "that is my metier: I alwaysturn up at opportune moments, like the kind godmother in the fairytale. What is it you want of me?"
"I want your company."
"There's nothing I'd give you more willingly," said Jimmy; "I'm tiredof it myself. But seriously, what is the matter?"
"Look out of the window," Browne replied. "Do you see that fog?"
"I've not only seen it, I have swallowed several yards of it," Footeanswered. "I've been to tea with the Verneys in Arlington Street, andI've fairly had to eat my way here. But why should the weatherirritate you? If you're idiot enough to come back from Cairo to Londonin March, I don't see that you've any right to complain. I only wishFate had blessed me with the same chance of getting away."
"If she had, where would you go and what would you do?"
"I'd go anywhere and do anything. You may take it from me that theBard was not very far out when he said that if money goes before, allways lie open."
"If that's all you want, we'll very soon send it before. Look here,Jimmy; you've nothing to do, and I've less. What do you say to goingoff somewhere? What's your fancy--Paris, south of France, Egypt,Algiers? One place is like another to me."
"I don't want anything better than Algiers," said Jimmy. "Provided wego by sea, I am your obedient and humble servant to command."
Then, waving his hand towards the gloom outside, he added: "Fog, Rain,Sleet, and Snow, my luck triumphs, and I defy ye!"
"That's settled, then," said Browne, rising and standing before thefire. "I'll wire to Mason to have the yacht ready at Plymouthto-morrow evening. I should advise you to bring something warm withyou, for we are certain to find it cold going down Channel and crossingthe Bay at this time of the year. In a week, however, we shall beenjoying warm weather once more. Now I must be getting along. Youdon't happen to be coming my way, I suppose?"
"My dear fellow," said Jimmy, buttoning up his coat and putting on hishat as he spoke, "my way is always your way. Are you going to walk orwill you cab it?"
"Walk," Browne replied. "This is not the sort of weather to ride inhansoms. If you are ready, come along."
The two young men passed out of the club and along Pall Mall together.Turning up Waterloo Place, they proceeded in the direction ofPiccadilly. The fog was thicker there than elsewhere, and every shopwindow was brilliantly illuminated in order to display the wares within.
"Oh, by the way, Browne, I've got something to show you," said Foote,as they passed over the crossing of Charles Street. "It may interestyou."
"What is it?" asked Browne. "A new cigarette or something moreatrocious than usual in the way of ties?"
"Better than that," returned his companion, and as he spoke he led hisfriend towards a picture-shop, in the window of which were displayed anumber of works of art. Occupying a prominent position in the centrewas a large water-colour, and as Browne glanced at it his heart gave aleap in his breast. It was a view of Merok taken from the spot wherehe had rescued Katherine Petrovitch from death upwards of seven monthsbefore. It was a clever bit of work, and treated in an entirelyunconventional fashion.
"It's not by any means bad, is it?" said Foote, after Browne had beenlooking at it in silence for more than a minute. "If I had themoney---- But I say, old chap, what is the matter? You are as pale asif you had seen a ghost. Don't you feel well?"
"Perfectly well," his friend replied; "it's the fog."
He did not say that in the corner of the picture he had seen theartist's name, and that that name was the one he had cherished sofondly and for so long a time.
"Just excuse me for a moment, will you?" he said. "I should like to gointo the shop and ask a question about that picture."
"All right," said Jimmy. "I'll wait here."
Browne accordingly disappeared inside, leaving Foote on the pavement.As it happened, it was a shop he often visited, and in consequence hewas well known to the assistants. When he made his business known tothem, the picture was withdrawn from the window and placed before him.
"An excellent bit of work, as you can see for yourself, sir," said theshopman, as he pulled down the electric light and turned it upon thepicture. "The young lady who painted it is fast making a name forherself. So far this is the first bit of her work we have had inLondon; but the Continental dealers assure me they find a ready marketfor it."
"I can quite believe it," said Browne. "It is an exceedingly prettysketch. You may send it round to me."
"Very good, sir; thank you. Perhaps you will allow me to show you oneor two others while you are here? We have several new works since youpaid us a visit last."
"No, thank you," Browne replied. "I only came in to find out whetheryou could tell me the address of the young lady who painted this. Sheand I met in Norway some months ago."
"Indeed, sir, I had no idea when I spoke, that you were acquainted.Perhaps you know that she is in London at the present moment. Shehonoured me by visiting my shop this morning."
"Indeed," said Browne. "In that case you might let me know where I canfind her."
"I will do so at once," the man replied. "If you will excuse me for amoment I will have it written out for you."
He disappeared forthwith into an office at the end of the shop, leavingBrowne staring at the picture as if he could not take his eyes off it.So engaged was he with the thoughts it conjured up that he quite forgotthe fact that he was standing in a shop in London with hansoms and'buses rolling by outside. In spirit he was on the steep side of aNorwegian mountain, surrounded by fog and rain, endeavouring todiscover from what direction a
certain cry for help proceeded. Thenthe fog rolled away, and, looking up at him, he saw what he now knew tobe the sweetest and most womanly face upon which he had ever gazed. Hewas still wrapped in this day-dream when the shopman returned, androused him by placing on the counter before him an envelope upon whichwas written:--
Miss KATHERINE PETROVITCH. 43, _German Park Road, West._
"That is it, sir," said the man. "If it would be any convenience toyou, sir, it will give me the greatest pleasure to write to the younglady, and to tell her that you have purchased her picture and wouldlike her to call upon you."
"I must beg of you not to do anything of the kind," Browne replied,with the most impressive earnestness. "I must make it a condition ofmy purchase that you do not mention my name to her in any way."
The shopman looked a little crestfallen. "Very good, sir; since you donot wish it, of course I will be sure not to do so," he answeredhumbly. "I thought perhaps, having purchased an example of her work,and being such a well-known patron of art, you might be anxious to helpthe young lady."
"What do you mean by helping her?" inquired Browne. "Do you think sheneeds assistance?"
"Well, sir, between ourselves," returned the other, "I do not fancy sheis very well off. She was in a great hurry, at any rate, to sell thispicture."
Browne winced; it hurt him to think that the girl had perhaps beencompelled to haggle with this man in order to obtain the merenecessaries of life. He, however, thanked the man for his courtesy,and bidding him send the picture to his residence as soon as possible,left the shop and joined Foote on the pavement outside.
"Well, I hope you have been long enough," remarked that gentleman in aninjured tone, as they proceeded up the street together. "Have youpurchased everything in the shop?"
"Don't be nasty, Jimmy," said Browne, with sudden joviality. "Itdoesn't suit you. You are the jolliest little fellow in the world whenyou are in a good temper; but when you are not--well, words fail me."
"Don't walk me off my legs, confound you!" said Jimmy snappishly. "Thenight is but young, and we're not performing pedestrians, whatever youmay think."
Browne was not aware that he was walking faster than usual, but heslowed down on being remonstrated with. Then he commenced to whistlesoftly to himself.
"Now you are whistling," said Jimmy, "which is a thing, as you are wellaware, that I detest in the street. What on earth is the matter withyou to-night? Ten minutes ago you were as glum as they make 'em;nothing suited you. Then you went into that shop and bought thatpicture, and since you came out you seem bent on making a publicexhibition of yourself."
"So I am," said Browne; and then, suddenly stopping in his walk, herapped with the ferrule of his umbrella on the pavement. "I am goingto give an exhibition, and a dashed good one, too. I'll take one ofthe galleries, and do it in a proper style. I'll have the criticsthere, and all the swells who buy; and if they don't do as I want, anddeclare it to be the very finest show of the year, I'll never buy oneof their works again." Then, taking his friend's arm, he continued hiswalk, saying, "What you want, Jimmy, my boy, is a proper appreciationof art. There is nothing like it in the world, take my word for it.Nothing! Nothing at all!"
"You've said that before," retorted his friend, "and you said it withsufficient emphasis to amuse the whole street. If you're going to giveme an exposition of art in Regent Street on a foggy afternoon in March,I tell you flatly I'm going home. I am not a millionaire, and mycharacter won't stand the strain. What's the matter with you, Browne?You're as jolly as a sandboy now, and, for the life of me, I don't seehow a chap can be happy in a fog like this and still retain his reason."
"Fog, my boy," continued Browne, still displaying the greatest goodhumour. "I give you my word, there's nothing like a fog in the world.I adore it! I revel in it! Talk about your south of France andsunshine--what is it to London and a fog? A fog did me a very goodturn once, and now I'm hanged if another isn't going to do it again.You're a dear little chap, Jimmy, and I wouldn't wish for a bettercompanion. But there's no use shutting your eyes to one fact, and thatis you're not sympathetic. You want educating, and when I've a week ortwo to spare I'll do it. Now I'm going to leave you to think out whatI've said. I've just remembered a most important engagement. Let mefind a decent hansom and I'll be off."
"I thought you said just now this was not the weather for driving inhansoms? I thought you said you had nothing to do, and that you weregoing to employ yourself entertaining me? John Grantham Browne, I tellyou what it is, you're going in that hansom to a lunatic asylum."
"Better than that, my boy," said Browne, with a laugh, as the cab drewup at the pavement and he sprang in. "Far better than that." Then,looking up through the trap in the roof at the driver, he addedsolemnly: "Cabby, drive me to 43, German Park Road, as fast as yourhorse can go."
"But, hold on," said Foote, holding up his umbrella to detain him."Before you do go, what about to-morrow? What train shall we catch?And have you sent the wire to your skipper to have the yacht inreadiness?"
"Bother to-morrow," answered Browne. "There is no to-morrow, there areno trains, there is no skipper, and most certainly there is no yacht.I've forgotten them and everything else. Drive on, cabby. Bye-bye,Jimmy."
The cab disappeared in the fog, leaving Mr. Foote standing before theportico of the Criterion looking after it.
"My friend Browne is either mad or in love," said that astonishedindividual as the vehicle disappeared in the traffic. "I don't knowwhich to think. He's quite unnerved me. I think I'll go in here andtry a glass of dry sherry just to pull myself together. What an idiotI was not to find out who painted that picture! But that's just likeme; I never think of things until too late."
When he had finished his sherry he lit a cigarette, and presently foundhimself making his way towards his rooms in Jermyn Street. As hewalked he shook his head solemnly. "I don't like the look of things atall," he said. "I said a lunatic asylum just now; I should havementioned a worse place--'St. George's, Hanover Square.' One thing,however, is quite certain. If I know anything of signs, Algiers willnot have the pleasure of entertaining me."