Part 9

No, S. Gedge Antiques was not to be trusted for a moment. Of that she was quite sure. By the time she had gone twenty yards along the street this feeling of insecurity took such a hold upon her that she stopped abruptly, and faced about. To go back? Or not to go back? Indecision was unlike her, but never was it so hard to make up her mind. Could it be that Uncle Si was as wicked as she thought? Perhaps she had now become the prey of her own guilty conscience. In any case, she knew of nowhere just then in which to place the precious thing; and this fact it was that turned the scale and finally settled the question.

She went down to the Strand, and took a bus to Oxford Circus. That Mecca, alas, did not prove nearly so stimulating as the previous afternoon. As soon as she came really to grips with that most daunting of all tasks, “the looking for a job,” her hopes and her courage were woefully dashed. Real pluck was needed to enter such a palace as David Jones Limited, to go up without faltering to some haughty overseer in a frock coat and spats and ask if an assistant was wanted.

Three times, in various shops, she screwed herself to the heroic pitch of asking that difficult question. Three times she met with a chilling response. And the only gleam of hope was on the last occasion.

“There is one vacancy, I believe,” said Olympian Zeus. “But all applicants must apply by letter for a personal interview with the manager.”

Sooner than renew the attempt just then, June felt she would prefer to die. A girl from the provinces, new to London and its ways, without credentials or friends, or knowledge of “the ropes” must not expect to be taken on, at any rate in Oxford Street.

Much cast down she returned to her teashop of yesterday. Seated at the same table, her mind went back to the fascinating acquaintance she had made there. Was it possible that a career had been offered her? Or was the suggestion of this new friend merely the outcome of a keen interest in the picture?

It could not be so entirely, because she clearly remembered that Mr. Keller had proposed her sitting to him as a model before she had mentioned the picture at all.

She went back to New Cross Street in a state of gloom; her mind was dominated by a sense of being “up against it.” And this unhappy feeling was not softened by the discovery she made as soon as she entered that cold and uninviting garret. In her absence the lock of her trunk had been forced and the picture taken away.

The tragedy was exactly what she had foreseen. But faced by the bitter fact she was swept by a tempest of rage. It could only be the work of one person. Her fear and dislike of Uncle Si rose to hatred now.

In a surge of anger she went downstairs and in the presence of William charged Uncle Si.

“You’ve been at my box,” she stormed.

He looked at her with a kind of calm pensiveness over the top of his spectacles.

“If you lock away things, my girl, that don’t belong to you, I’m afraid you’ll have to stand the racket.” So lofty, so severe was the old man’s tone that for the moment June was staggered.

“It’s stealing,” she cried, returning hectic to the attack.

Uncle Si waggled a magisterial finger in her face. “Niece,” he said, with a quietude which put her at a disadvantage, “I must ask you not to make an exhibition of yourself. Have the goodness to hold your tongue.”

June maintained the charge. “The picture’s mine. William gave it me. You’ve broken open my box and stolen it.”

S. Gedge Antiques, after a mild side glance in the direction of William, proceeded to fix a glacial eye upon his niece. “What I have to say is this.” His tone was more magisterial than ever. “At present, my girl, you are under age, and as long as you live with me the law regards me as your guardian. And, as I have told William already, in my opinion you are not a fit and proper person to have the care of a thing so valuable as this picture may prove to be. Mind you,”--the old fox gave William a meaningful look--“I don’t go so far as to say that it _is_ valuable, but I say that it _might_ be. And, in that case, I can’t allow a mere ignorant girl from the country who, in a manner of speaking, doesn’t know the letter A from a pig’s foot to accept it from you, my boy. It’s very generous of you, and I hope she’s thanked you properly, but if I allow her to take it, some unscrupulous dealer is sure to bamboozle her out of it. That’s assuming it’s valuable, which, of course, I don’t go so far as to say that it is.”

“Thief!” stormed June. “Wicked thief!”

However, she knew well enough that it was a real pity to let her feelings get the better of her; it enabled the Old Crocodile to shine so much by comparison. He addressed himself to William in his most sanctimonious manner. For the good of all concerned, such a bee-yew-ti-ful thing--it sickened June to see the old humbug lift his eyes to heaven--must be cared for by him personally. An uneducated mawkin could not hope to appreciate a work of art of that quality, and if anything happened to it, as in such hands something inevitably must, William’s master would never be able to forgive himself, he wouldn’t really!

The old man spoke so gently and so plausibly and hovered at times so near to tears, that William would have been less than human not to have been moved by his words. Uncle Si had not the least difficulty in making clear to his assistant that he was swayed by the highest motives. His own private regard for the picture, which, of course, William must know was intense, did not enter into the case at all; but wisdom and experience declared that until Monsieur Duponnet of Paris had seen the picture it must remain in responsible hands.

“But I tell you the picture’s mine, mine, mine!” cried June.

No, the picture was William’s. That outstanding fact was emphasized again in his master’s kindly voice. Was he not William’s guardian also in the eyes of the law? Not for a moment could he think of allowing the young man in a fit of weak generosity to give away a thing that might prove to be a real work of art.

June was a little disappointed by William’s attitude in the matter. The way in which he submitted to Uncle Si did him no credit. Surely the picture was his to do with as he chose; yet to judge by Uncle Si’s handling of the affair the young man had no right to dispose of it. June deplored this lack of spirit. He should have fought for his own. At the same time, her mind was tormented by the unpleasant thought that he really wanted to revoke his gift.

The more she considered the position, the less she liked it. She could not rid herself of a feeling that she was playing an unworthy part. It was all very well to regard her actions as strictly in William’s interest. But were they? She was haunted by a sense of having descended perilously near to the level of Uncle Si himself.

Anyhow, she had tried her best to outwit S. Gedge Antiques. And he had outwitted her. There was no disguising it. Both were playing the same game, the same crooked game, and it seemed that Uncle Si, as was only to be expected, was able to play it much better than could she. The artful old fox had bested her with her own weapons. Were they not equally unscrupulous? Was not William the toy of both?

XXV

IN the course of the next morning, June was informed by Uncle Si, with his most sanctimonious air that “he could not pass over her impudence, and that she had better pack her box and go.” Moreover, that force might be lent to this ukase, he sternly summoned William from the lumber room, and ordered the young man to help her down with her box as soon as it was ready; and then he must fetch her a cab.

This was more than June had bargained for. She was expecting to be kicked out; but she had not looked for the process to be quite so summary. It did not suit her plans at all.

“Get a room for yourself in a decent neighbourhood,” said the old man. “Mrs. Runciman will know of one, no doubt. You’ve money enough to keep you while you look for work.”

June’s swift mind, however, saw instant disadvantages. Secretly, she cherished the hope, a slender one, no doubt, of being able to discover where the picture was hid. Once, however, she left the house that hope would vanish. And it was painfully clear that it was Uncle Si’s recognition of this fact which now made him so determined to be quit of her.

The old serpent was fully alive to what lay at the back of her mind. He knew that so long as she slept under his roof the picture could never be safe.

She was shrewd enough to size up the position at once. Reading the purpose in the heart of Uncle Si she told him plainly that much as she disliked her present address she did not propose to change it until her lawful property had been restored to her.

“You are going to leave this place within an hour, my girl, for good and all.”

“I shall not,” said June flatly. “Until you give me the picture, I don’t intend to stir.”

“The picture is not yours. You are not a fit person to have it. And if you don’t go quietly your box will be put into the street.”

“Dare to touch my box again, and I shall go straight to the police.”

Uncle Si didn’t care a straw for the police. She had not the slightest claim upon him; in fact she was living on his charity. As for the picture, it had nothing whatever to do with the matter.

At this point it was that William came out in his true colours. He had been standing by, unwilling witness of these passages. Anxiously concerned, he could no longer keep silent.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” he said, stammering painfully, and flushing deeply, “but if Miss June leaves the house, I’m afraid I’ll have to go as well.”

This was a thunderbolt. S. Gedge Antiques opened his mouth in wide astonishment. He gasped like a carp. The atmospheric displacement was terrific. Slowly the old man took off his “selling” spectacles, and replaced them with his “buying” ones. Certainly the effect was to make him look a shade less truculent, but at the moment there was no other result. “Boy, don’t talk like a fool,” was all he could say.

William, however, was not to be moved. He never found it easy to make up his mind; for him to reach a decision in things that mattered was a slow and trying process. But the task achieved it was for good or ill. His stammers and blushes were a little ludicrous, he seemed near to tears, but the open hostility of his master could not turn him an inch.

“Never in my born days did I hear the like.” S. Gedge Antiques seethed like a vipers’ nest. “Boy, you ought to be bled for the simples to let a paltry hussy get round you in this way.”

“Give me the picture, Uncle Si,” cried the paltry hussy, with a force that made him blink, “and I’ll take precious good care you don’t see me again.”

The old man whinnied with rage. But he had not the least intention of giving up the picture; nor had he the least intention of giving up that which was almost as valuable, the services of his right-hand man. William was irreplaceable. And the instant his master realised that this odd fellow was very much in earnest, he saw that there was only one line to take. He must temporize. With all the tact he could muster, and on occasion the old man could muster a good deal, the Old Crocodile proceeded to do so.

The “firing” of his niece should stand in abeyance for the time being. He gave solemn warning, however, that she must get a job right away, as his mind was quite made up that he was not going to find house room for the likes of her an hour longer than he could help. As for the boy, of whom he had always held such a high opinion ever since the day he had first picked him out of the gutter and upon whom he had lavished a father’s kindness, he was really quite at a loss--with a snuffle of heart-melting pathos--to know how to put his deeply wounded feelings into words.

For June, all the same, the upshot was victory. The inevitable packing of her box could be postponed to her own good time. But well she knew that the reprieve was due to William and to him alone. It was his splendidly timed intervention that had enabled her to win the day.

The previous evening harsh thoughts of the Sawney had crept into her heart. After giving her the picture, surely it was his duty to take a stronger line upon the rape of it. But that phase of weakness was forgotten now. He had come out nobly. At a most critical moment he had fought her battle; and he had fought it with magical effect.

All was forgiven. He was O. K.

XXVI

JUNE was dominated now by a single thought. By hook or by crook she must get back the picture before she left that house. If she failed to do so, she would never see it again, and there would be an end of all her hopes. Exactly what these hopes were she did not venture to ask herself; in any case, they would not have been easy to put into words. But she felt in a vague way that William’s future and her own were bound up in them.

It was clear that the picture was concealed somewhere upon the premises, because Mr. Thornton and his friend, M. Duponnet, were coming there the next day to look at it. June was quick to realize that this fact offered a measure of opportunity which, slender as it was, must certainly be used. No other was in the least likely to come her way.

Three o’clock on Thursday afternoon she had learned already was the hour of the appointment. It was now the afternoon of Wednesday. No matter what the penalty, if flesh and blood could contrive it, she must be present at this interview, and see what happened to the treasure.

Despair heavy upon her, she lay awake the best part of the night searching her mind for a plan of action. But the quest seemed hopeless. Uncle Si could so easily thwart any scheme she might evolve. And he would not have a scruple. She must outwit him somehow, but to outwit one of such cunning was a task for a brain far stronger and nimbler than hers.

Lying up there in her comfortless bed, wild thoughts flocking round her pillow like so many evil spirits, the whole sorry affair was as haunting as a bad dream. And, interwoven with it, in the most fantastic way, was the shop below, and more particularly the Hoodoo, the presiding genius, which now stood forth in June’s mind as the replica of Uncle Si himself. He was surely possessed by a devil, and this heathen joss as surely embodied it.

On Thursday morning June rose early. She was in a mood of desperation. Little sleep had come to her in the long and dreary night hours. But, in spite of feeling quite worn out, her determination to “best” Uncle Si and regain her own property had not grown less. No ray was to be seen anywhere, yet defiant of fate as she still was, the time had not yet come to admit even to herself that all was lost.

As dustpan and brush in hand she began the day’s work, more than one reckless expedient crossed her mind. In the last resort she might put the matter in the hands of the police. If she could have counted on William’s support, she would have been tempted to do this, but the rub was, he could not be depended on at all. Nobly as he had fought her recent battle, it was clear that so far as the picture itself was concerned, his sympathies were wholly with Uncle Si. Even if he did not deny that the picture was her lawful property he had certainly done his best to revoke his gift.

No, she would gain nothing by calling in the police. She must find some other way. During the night a wild plan had entered her mind. And if in the course of the morning no scheme more hopeful occurred to her, she was now resolved to act upon it.

To this end, she began at once to throw dust in the eyes of Uncle Si. At the breakfast table he was told that she meant to spend the afternoon looking for a job if, with a modest eye on her plate, “he had no objection.”

The Old Crocodile had not the least objection. With gusto he assured her that it was quite the best thing she could do. Privately he assured himself that he didn’t want her hanging around the place while he was transacting business of great importance with Mr. Thornton and Monsieur Duponnet. Ever in the forefront of his mind was the fact that these gentlemen were coming to see him at three o’clock.

About an hour before the time appointed the old fox sent William on an errand which would keep him away most of the afternoon. And further to ensure that the coast should be quite clear, S. Gedge Antiques said sharply to his niece, “Go and put on your hat, my girl, and make yourself scarce. Get after that job you spoke about. I won’t have you hanging around while these gentlemen are here.”

June, however, had other views. And these, whatever they were, she was at great pains not to disclose. First she watched William go innocently forth on a long bus ride to Richmond. Next she made sure that Uncle Si was composing himself in his armchair for his usual “forty winks” after dinner. And then she proceeded boldly to develop her audacious design.

To start with, she crept into the front shop and surveyed the Hoodoo. The quaintly hideous vase was fully six feet tall, its body huge, its mouth wide. Was it possible to get inside? There was little doubt that if she was able to do so, this curious monster was quite large enough to conceal her.

She saw at once that the task before her was no light one. But by the side of the Hoodoo, inscrutable Providence had placed a genuine antique in the shape of a gate-legged table, £4.19.6--a great bargain. The sight of this was encouraging. She climbed onto it. And then wedging the Hoodoo most cunningly between the table and the wall, and artfully disposing her own weight, so that the monster might not tip over, she lowered herself with the caution and agility of a cat into the roomy interior.

It was almost a feat for an acrobat, but she managed it somehow. Keeping tight hold of the rim as she swung both legs over, her feet touched bottom with the vase still maintaining the perpendicular. The space inside was ample, and without even the need to bend, the top of her head was invisible. Near the top of the vase, moreover, was the monster’s open mouth, a narrow slit studded with teeth, which not only afforded a means of ventilation, but also through which, to June’s devout joy, she was able to peer.

For such a crowning boon on the part of Providence she had every reason to feel grateful. So far everything was miraculously right. Her daring had met with more success than could have been hoped for. One problem remained, however, which at that moment she did not venture to look in the face. To get into the vase was one thing; to get out of it would be quite another.

No friendly table could avail her now. In ascending that sheer and slippery face of painted metal-work, she must not expect help from outside when the time came to escape from her prison. Besides one incautious movement might cause the whole thing to topple. And if topple it did, the results would be dire.

This, however, was not the time to consider that aspect of the case. Let her be thankful for a concealment so perfect which allowed her to breathe and to see without being seen or her presence suspected. For such material benefits she must lift up her heart; and hope for the best when the time came to get out. With a sense of grim satisfaction she set herself “to lie doggo,” and await the next turn in a game that was full of peril.

It was not long before Uncle Si shambled into the shop. June could see him quite clearly, as he came in with that furtive air which she had learned to know so well. First he took off his spectacles and applied to them vigorously a red bandanna handkerchief. Then he peered cautiously round to make sure that he was alone.

June had not dared to hope that the picture was concealed in the shop; and yet it offered every facility. There were many nooks and crannies, and the whole place was crammed with old pieces of furniture, bric-à-brac, curios. But June had felt that S. Gedge Antiques was not likely to run the risk of hiding his treasure in the midst of these. She thought that his bedroom, under lock and key, was the most likely place of all.

Howbeit, with a sharp thrill, half torment, half delight, she saw that this was not the case. Within a few feet of the Hoodoo itself was an old oak chest which Uncle Si cautiously drew aside. The very spot whereon it had rested contained a loose board. He took a small chisel from a drawer in the counter, prised up the board and from beneath it took forth the buried treasure.

Long and lovingly the old man looked at it, hugging it to his breast more than once in the process, and as he did so June was reminded irresistibly of the Miser Gaspard in “Les Cloches des Corneville,” that famous play she had once seen at the Theatre Royal, Blackhampton. To hide such a thing in such a place was a regular miser’s trick. It was just what she had expected of him. Presently a grandfather clock, with a Westminster Abbey face, “guaranteed Queen Anne,” chimed the hour of three. June could scarcely breathe for excitement. Her heart seemed to rise in her throat and choke her.

At five minutes past three came Mr. Thornton and Monsieur Duponnet. The Frenchman was a small and dapper personage, with a keen eye and a neat imperial. In manner he was much quieter than tradition exacts of a Frenchman, but it was easy to tell that Uncle Si was much impressed by him. Louis Quinze-legs, too, was full of deference. That gentleman, whose face was almost as foxy as that of Uncle Si himself, and about whose lips a thin smile flitted perpetually, had an air of tacit homage for the smallest remark of M. Duponnet, who was clearly a man of great consequence if the bearing of Mr. Thornton was anything to go by.

June, at the back of the shop, inside the Hoodoo and her keen eyes hidden by its half-open jaws, which, in addition to other advantages was partly masked by a litter of bric-à-brac, was in a position to gain full knowledge of all that passed between these three. To begin with, S. Gedge Antiques ceremoniously handed the picture to Louis Quinze-legs who, with a fine gesture, handed it to Monsieur Duponnet.

The Frenchman examined the canvas back and front through his own private glass, scratched portions of it with his nail, pursed his lips, rubbed his nose, and no doubt would have shrugged his shoulders had not that been such a jejune thing for a Frenchman to do.

With a deference that was quite impressive, Mr. Thornton and S. Gedge Antiques waited for M. Duponnet to say something.

“Ze tail of ze R. is a little faint, hein!” was what he said.

“But it is a tail, Mussewer,” said S. Gedge Antiques in a robust voice.

“And it is an R,” said polite Mr. Thornton, as he bent over the picture.

“You can bet your life on that,” said S. Gedge Antiques.

M. Duponnet did not seem inclined to wager anything so valuable as his life. After a little hesitation, which involved further minute examination through his glass, he was ready to take the ‘R’ for granted. But he went on to deplore the fact that the picture was without a pedigree.

“A pedigree, Mussewer!” It was now the turn of S. Gedge Antiques to rub his nose.

M. Duponnet succinctly explained, with the air of a man expounding a commonplace in the world of art, that Van Roons were so few, their qualities so rare, their monetary value so considerable, that as soon as one came into the market its history was eagerly scrutinised. And should one suddenly appear that previously had not been known to exist it would have to run the gauntlet of the most expert criticism.

“May be, Mussewer!” S. Gedge Antiques wagged a dour head. “But that’s not going to alter the fact that this be-yew-ti-ful thing is a genuine Van Roon.”

In a manner of speaking it would not, agreed M. Duponnet, but it might detract considerably from its market value.

“That’s as may be.” The old man suddenly assumed quite a high tone.