[أرب جمـال]

Chapter 5

Mr. Merton was a good deal distressed at the second postponement of
the marriage, and Lady Julia, who had already ordered her dress for
the wedding, did all in her power to make Sybil break off the match.
Dearly, however, as Sybil loved her mother, she had given her whole
life into Lord Arthur's hands, and nothing that Lady Julia could say
could make her waver in her faith. As for Lord Arthur himself, it
took him days to get over his terrible disappointment, and for a
time his nerves were completely unstrung. His excellent common
sense, however, soon asserted itself, and his sound, practical mind
did not leave him long in doubt about what to do. Poison having
proved a complete failure, dynamite, or some other form of
explosive, was obviously the proper thing to try.
He accordingly looked again over the list of his friends and
relatives, and, after careful consideration, determined to blow up
his uncle, the Dean of Chichester. The Dean, who was a man of great
culture and learning, was extremely fond of clocks, and had a
wonderful collection of timepieces, ranging from the fifteenth
century to the present day, and it seemed to Lord Arthur that this
hobby of the good Dean's offered him an excellent opportunity for
carrying out his scheme. Where to procure an explosive machine was,
of course, quite another matter. The London Directory gave him no
information on the point, and he felt that there was very little use
in going to Scotland Yard about it, as they never seemed to know
anything about the movements of the dynamite faction till after an
explosion had taken place, and not much even then.

Suddenly he thought of his friend Rouvaloff, a young Russian of very
revolutionary tendencies, whom he had met at Lady Windermere's in
the winter. Count Rouvaloff was supposed to be writing a life of
Peter the Great, and to have come over to England for the purpose of
studying the documents relating to that Tsar's residence in this
country as a ship carpenter; but it was generally suspected that he
was a Nihilist agent, and there was no doubt that the Russian
Embassy did not look with any favour upon his presence in London.
Lord Arthur felt that he was just the man for his purpose, and drove
down one morning to his lodgings in Bloomsbury, to ask his advice
and assistance.
'So you are taking up politics seriously?' said Count Rouvaloff,
when Lord Arthur had told him the object of his mission; but Lord
Arthur, who hated swagger of any kind, felt bound to admit to him
that he had not the slightest interest in social questions, and
simply wanted the explosive machine for a purely family matter, in
which no one was concerned but himself.
Count Rouvaloff looked at him for some moments in amazement, and
then seeing that he was quite serious, wrote an address on a piece
of paper, initialled it, and handed it to him across the table.
'Scotland Yard would give a good deal to know this address, my dear
fellow.'
'They shan't have it,' cried Lord Arthur, laughing; and after
shaking the young Russian warmly by the hand he ran downstairs,
examined the paper, and told the coachman to drive to Soho Square.
There he dismissed him, and strolled down Greek Street, till he came
to a place called Bayle's Court. He passed under the archway, and
found himself in a curious cul-de-sac, that was apparently occupied
by a French Laundry, as a perfect network of clothes-lines was
stretched across from house to house, and there was a flutter of
white linen in the morning air. He walked right to the end, and
knocked at a little green house. After some delay, during which
every window in the court became a blurred mass of peering faces,
the door was opened by a rather rough-looking foreigner, who asked
him in very bad English what his business was. Lord Arthur handed
him the paper Count Rouvaloff had given him. When the man saw it he
bowed, and invited Lord Arthur into a very shabby front parlour on
the ground floor, and in a few moments Herr Winckelkopf, as he was
called in England, bustled into the room, with a very wine-stained
napkin round his neck, and a fork in his left hand.
'Count Rouvaloff has given me an introduction to you,' said Lord
Arthur, bowing, 'and I am anxious to have a short interview with you
on a matter of business. My name is Smith, Mr. Robert Smith, and I
want you to supply me with an explosive clock.'
'Charmed to meet you, Lord Arthur,' said the genial little German,
laughing. 'Don't look so alarmed, it is my duty to know everybody,
and I remember seeing you one evening at Lady Windermere's. I hope
her ladyship is quite well. Do you mind sitting with me while I
finish my breakfast? There is an excellent pate, and my friends are
kind enough to say that my Rhine wine is better than any they get at
the German Embassy,' and before Lord Arthur had got over his
surprise at being recognised, he found himself seated in the back-
room, sipping the most delicious Marcobrunner out of a pale yellow
hock-glass marked with the Imperial monogram, and chatting in the
friendliest manner possible to the famous conspirator.

'Explosive clocks,' said Herr Winckelkopf, 'are not very good things
for foreign exportation, as, even if they succeed in passing the
Custom House, the train service is so irregular, that they usually
go off before they have reached their proper destination. If,
however, you want one for home use, I can supply you with an
excellent article, and guarantee that you will he satisfied with the
result. May I ask for whom it is intended? If it is for the
police, or for any one connected with Scotland Yard, I am afraid I
cannot do anything for you. The English detectives are really our
best friends, and I have always found that by relying on their
stupidity, we can do exactly what we like. I could not spare one of
them.'
'I assure you,' said Lord Arthur, 'that it has nothing to do with
the police at all. In fact, the clock is intended for the Dean of
Chichester.'
'Dear me! I had no idea that you felt so strongly about religion,
Lord Arthur. Few young men do nowadays.'
'I am afraid you overrate me, Herr Winckelkopf,' said Lord Arthur,
blushing. 'The fact is, I really know nothing about theology.'
'It is a purely private matter then?'
'Purely private.'
Herr Winckelkopf shrugged his shoulders, and left the room,
returning in a few minutes with a round cake of dynamite about the
size of a penny, and a pretty little French clock, surmounted by an
ormolu figure of Liberty trampling on the hydra of Despotism.
Lord Arthur's face brightened up when he saw it. 'That is just what
I want,' he cried, 'and now tell me how it goes off.'
'Ah! there is my secret,' answered Herr Winckelkopf, contemplating
his invention with a justifiable look of pride; 'let me know when
you wish it to explode, and I will set the machine to the moment.'
'Well, to-day is Tuesday, and if you could send it off at once--'
'That is impossible; I have a great deal of important work on hand
for some friends of mine in Moscow. Still, I might send it off to-
morrow.'
'Oh, it will be quite time enough!' said Lord Arthur politely, 'if
it is delivered to-morrow night or Thursday morning. For the moment
of the explosion, say Friday at noon exactly. The Dean is always at
home at that hour.'
'Friday, at noon,' repeated Herr Winckelkopf, and he made a note to
that effect in a large ledger that was lying on a bureau near the
fireplace.
'And now,' said Lord Arthur, rising from his seat, 'pray let me know
how much I am in your debt.'
'It is such a small matter, Lord Arthur, that I do not care to make
any charge. The dynamite comes to seven and sixpence, the clock
will be three pounds ten, and the carriage about five shillings. I
am only too pleased to oblige any friend of Count Rouvaloff's.'
'But your trouble, Herr Winckelkopf?'
'Oh, that is nothing! It is a pleasure to me. I do not work for
money; I live entirely for my art.'
Lord Arthur laid down 4 pounds, 2s. 6d. on the table, thanked the
little German for his kindness, and, having succeeded in declining
an invitation to meet some Anarchists at a meat-tea on the following
Saturday, left the house and went off to the Park.
For the next two days he was in a state of the greatest excitement,
and on Friday at twelve o'clock he drove down to the Buckingham to
wait for news. All the afternoon the stolid hall-porter kept
posting up telegrams from various parts of the country giving the
results of horse-races, the verdicts in divorce suits, the state of
the weather, and the like, while the tape ticked out wearisome
details about an all-night sitting in the House of Commons, and a
small panic on the Stock Exchange. At four o'clock the evening
papers came in, and Lord Arthur disappeared into the library with
the Pall Mall, the St. James's, the Globe, and the Echo, to the
immense indignation of Colonel Goodchild, who wanted to read the
reports of a speech he had delivered that morning at the Mansion
House, on the subject of South African Missions, and the
advisability of having black Bishops in every province, and for some
reason or other had a strong prejudice against the Evening News.
None of the papers, however, contained even the slightest allusion
to Chichester, and Lord Arthur felt that the attempt must have
failed. It was a terrible blow to him, and for a time he was quite
unnerved. Herr Winckelkopf, whom he went to see the next day was
full of elaborate apologies, and offered to supply him with another
clock free of charge, or with a case of nitro-glycerine bombs at
cost price. But he had lost all faith in explosives, and Herr
Winckelkopf himself acknowledged that everything is so adulterated
nowadays, that even dynamite can hardly be got in a pure condition.
The little German, however, while admitting that something must have
gone wrong with the machinery, was not without hope that the clock
might still go off, and instanced the case of a barometer that he
had once sent to the military Governor at Odessa, which, though
timed to explode in ten days, had not done so for something like
three months. It was quite true that when it did go off, it merely
succeeded in blowing a housemaid to atoms, the Governor having gone
out of town six weeks before, but at least it showed that dynamite,
as a destructive force, was, when under the control of machinery, a
powerful, though a somewhat unpunctual agent. Lord Arthur was a
little consoled by this reflection, but even here he was destined to
disappointment, for two days afterwards, as he was going upstairs,
the Duchess called him into her boudoir, and showed him a letter she
had just received from the Deanery.
'Jane writes charming letters,' said the Duchess; 'you must really
read her last. It is quite as good as the novels Mudie sends us.'
Lord Arthur seized the letter from her hand. It ran as follows:-

THE DEANERY, CHICHESTER,
27th May.
My Dearest Aunt,
Thank you so much for the flannel for the Dorcas Society, and also
for the gingham. I quite agree with you that it is nonsense their
wanting to wear pretty things, but everybody is so Radical and
irreligious nowadays, that it is difficult to make them see that
they should not try and dress like the upper classes. I am sure I
don't know what we are coming to. As papa has often said in his
sermons, we live in an age of unbelief.
We have had great fun over a clock that an unknown admirer sent papa
last Thursday. It arrived in a wooden box from London, carriage
paid, and papa feels it must have been sent by some one who had read
his remarkable sermon, 'Is Licence Liberty?' for on the top of the
clock was a figure of a woman, with what papa said was the cap of
Liberty on her head. I didn't think it very becoming myself, but
papa said it was historical, so I suppose it is all right. Parker
unpacked it, and papa put it on the mantelpiece in the library, and
we were all sitting there on Friday morning, when just as the clock
struck twelve, we heard a whirring noise, a little puff of smoke
came from the pedestal of the figure, and the goddess of Liberty
fell off, and broke her nose on the fender! Maria was quite
alarmed, but it looked so ridiculous, that James and I went off into
fits of laughter, and even papa was amused. When we examined it, we
found it was a sort of alarum clock, and that, if you set it to a
particular hour, and put some gunpowder and a cap under a little
hammer, it went off whenever you wanted. Papa said it must not
remain in the library, as it made a noise, so Reggie carried it away
to the schoolroom, and does nothing but have small explosions all
day long. Do you think Arthur would like one for a wedding present?
I suppose they are quite fashionable in London. Papa says they
should do a great deal of good, as they show that Liberty can't
last, but must fall down. Papa says Liberty was invented at the
time of the French Revolution. How awful it seems!
I have now to go to the Dorcas, where I will read them your most
instructive letter. How true, dear aunt, your idea is, that in
their rank of life they should wear what is unbecoming. I must say
it is absurd, their anxiety about dress, when there are so many more
important things in this world, and in the next. I am so glad your
flowered poplin turned out so well, and that your lace was not torn.
I am wearing my yellow satin, that you so kindly gave me, at the
Bishop's on Wednesday, and think it will look all right. Would you
have bows or not? Jennings says that every one wears bows now, and
that the underskirt should be frilled. Reggie has just had another
explosion, and papa has ordered the clock to be sent to the stables.
I don't think papa likes it so much as he did at first, though he is
very flattered at being sent such a pretty and ingenious toy. It
shows that people read his sermons, and profit by them.
Papa sends his love, in which James, and Reggie, and Maria all
unite, and, hoping that Uncle Cecil's gout is better, believe me,
dear aunt, ever your affectionate niece,
JANE PERCY.
PS.--Do tell me about the bows. Jennings insists they are the
fashion.

Lord Arthur looked so serious and unhappy over the letter, that the
Duchess went into fits of laughter.
'My dear Arthur,' she cried, 'I shall never show you a young lady's
letter again! But what shall I say about the clock? I think it is
a capital invention, and I should like to have one myself.'
'I don't think much of them,' said Lord Arthur, with a sad smile,
and, after kissing his mother, he left the room.
When he got upstairs, he flung himself on a sofa, and his eyes
filled with tears. He had done his best to commit this murder, but
on both occasions he had failed, and through no fault of his own.
He had tried to do his duty, but it seemed as if Destiny herself had
turned traitor. He was oppressed with the sense of the barrenness
of good intentions, of the futility of trying to be fine. Perhaps,
it would be better to break off the marriage altogether. Sybil
would suffer, it is true, but suffering could not really mar a
nature so noble as hers. As for himself, what did it matter? There
is always some war in which a man can die, some cause to which a man
can give his life, and as life had no pleasure for him, so death had
no terror. Let Destiny work out his doom. He would not stir to
help her.
At half-past seven he dressed, and went down to the club. Surbiton
was there with a party of young men, and he was obliged to dine with
them. Their trivial conversation and idle jests did not interest
him, and as soon as coffee was brought he left them, inventing some
engagement in order to get away. As he was going out of the club,
the hall-porter handed him a letter. It was from Herr Winckelkopf,
asking him to call down the next evening, and look at an explosive
umbrella, that went off as soon as it was opened. It was the very
latest invention, and had just arrived from Geneva. He tore the
letter up into fragments. He had made up his mind not to try any
more experiments. Then he wandered down to the Thames Embankment,
and sat for hours by the river. The moon peered through a mane of
tawny clouds, as if it were a lion's eye, and innumerable stars
spangled the hollow vault, like gold dust powdered on a purple dome.
Now and then a barge swung out into the turbid stream, and floated
away with the tide, and the railway signals changed from green to
scarlet as the trains ran shrieking across the bridge. After some
time, twelve o'clock boomed from the tall tower at Westminster, and
at each stroke of the sonorous bell the night seemed to tremble.
Then the railway lights went out, one solitary lamp left gleaming
like a large ruby on a giant mast, and the roar of the city became
fainter.
At two o'clock he got up, and strolled towards Blackfriars. How
unreal everything looked! How like a strange dream! The houses on
the other side of the river seemed built out of darkness. One would
have said that silver and shadow had fashioned the world anew. The
huge dome of St. Paul's loomed like a bubble through the dusky air.
As he approached Cleopatra's Needle he saw a man leaning over the
parapet, and as he came nearer the man looked up, the gas-light
falling full upon his face.
It was Mr. Podgers, the cheiromantist! No one could mistake the
fat, flabby face, the gold-rimmed spectacles, the sickly feeble
smile, the sensual mouth.
Lord Arthur stopped. A brilliant idea flashed across him, and he
stole softly up behind. In a moment he had seized Mr. Podgers by
the legs, and flung him into the Thames. There was a coarse oath, a
heavy splash, and all was still. Lord Arthur looked anxiously over,
but could see nothing of the cheiromantist but a tall hat,
pirouetting in an eddy of moonlit water. After a time it also sank,
and no trace of Mr. Podgers was visible. Once he thought that he
caught sight of the bulky misshapen figure striking out for the
staircase by the bridge, and a horrible feeling of failure came over
him, but it turned out to be merely a reflection, and when the moon
shone out from behind a cloud it passed away. At last he seemed to
have realised the decree of destiny. He heaved a deep sigh of
relief, and Sybil's name came to his lips.
'Have you dropped anything, sir?' said a voice behind him suddenly.
He turned round, and saw a policeman with a bull's-eye lantern.
'Nothing of importance, sergeant,' he answered, smiling, and hailing
a passing hansom, he jumped in, and told the man to drive to
Belgrave Square.
For the next few days he alternated between hope and fear. There
were moments when he almost expected Mr. Podgers to walk into the
room, and yet at other times he felt that Fate could not be so
unjust to him. Twice he went to the cheiromantist's address in West
Moon Street, but he could not bring himself to ring the bell. He
longed for certainty, and was afraid of it.
Finally it came. He was sitting in the smoking-room of the club
having tea, and listening rather wearily to Surbiton's account of
the last comic song at the Gaiety, when the waiter came in with the
evening papers. He took up the St. James's, and was listlessly
turning over its pages, when this strange heading caught his eye:

SUICIDE OF A CHEIROMANTIST.

He turned pale with excitement, and began to read. The paragraph
ran as follows:
Yesterday morning, at seven o'clock, the body of Mr. Septimus R.
Podgers, the eminent cheiromantist, was washed on shore at
Greenwich, just in front of the Ship Hotel. The unfortunate
gentleman had been missing for some days, and considerable anxiety
for his safety had been felt in cheiromantic circles. It is
supposed that he committed suicide under the influence of a
temporary mental derangement, caused by overwork, and a verdict to
that effect was returned this afternoon by the coroner's jury. Mr.
Podgers had just completed an elaborate treatise on the subject of
the Human Hand, that will shortly be published, when it will no
doubt attract much attention. The deceased was sixty-five years of
age, and does not seem to have left any relations.
Lord Arthur rushed out of the club with the paper still in his hand,
to the immense amazement of the hall-porter, who tried in vain to
stop him, and drove at once to Park Lane. Sybil saw him from the
window, and something told her that he was the bearer of good news.
She ran down to meet him, and, when she saw his face, she knew that
all was well.
'My dear Sybil,' cried Lord Arthur, 'let us be married to-morrow!'
'You foolish boy! Why, the cake is not even ordered!' said Sybil,
laughing through her tears.