ERNEST BRAMAH Ultimate Collection: 20+ Novels & Short Stories in One Volume. Bramah Ernest

sees life through rose-coloured opera glasses. Take the case of your quite commonplace neighbour——”

      “That is really what you came about?” she interposed shrewdly.

      “Frankly, it is,” he replied. “I am more attracted by a turn of the odd and grotesque than by the most elaborate tragedy. The fantastic conceit of throwing stewed kidneys over into a neighbour’s garden irresistibly appealed to me. Louis, as I was saying, regards the man in the romantic light of a humanitarian monomaniac or a demented food reformer. I take a more subdued view and I think that his action, when rightly understood, will prove to be something quite obviously natural.”

      “Of course it is very ridiculous, but all the same it has been desperately annoying,” she confessed. “Still, it scarcely matters now. I am only sorry that it should have been the cause of wasting your valuable time, Mr Carrados.”

      “My valuable time,” he replied, “only seems valuable to me when I am, as you would say, wasting it. But is the incident closed? Louis told me that he had drafted you a letter of remonstrance. May I ask if it has been effective?”

      Instead of replying at once she got up and walked to the long French window and looked out over the garden where the fruit-trees that had been spared from the older cultivation were rejoicing the eye with the promise of their pink and white profusion.

      “I did not send it,” she said slowly, turning to her visitor again. “There is something that I did not tell Uncle Louis, because it would only have distressed him without doing any good. We may be leaving here very soon.”

      “Just when you had begun to get it well in hand?” he said, in some surprise.

      “It is a pity, is it not, but one cannot foresee these things. There is no reason why you should not know the cause, since you have interested yourself so far, Mr Carrados. In fact,” she added, smiling away the seriousness of the manner into which she had fallen, “I am not at all sure that you do not know already.”

      He shook his head and disclaimed any such prescience.

      “At all events you recognized that I was not exactly light-hearted,” she insisted. “Oh, you did not say that I had dark rings under my eyes, I know, but the cap fitted excellently…. It has to do with my husband’s business. He is with a firm of architects. It was a little venturesome taking this house—we had been in apartments for two years—but Roy was doing so well with his people and I was so enthusiastic for a garden that we did—scarcely two months ago. Everything seemed quite assured. Then came this thunderbolt. The partners—it is only a small firm, Mr Carrados—required a little more capital in the business. Someone whom they know is willing to put in two thousand pounds, but he stipulates for a post with them as well. He, like my husband, is a draughtsman. There is no need for the services of both and so——”

      “Is it settled?”

      “In effect, it is. They are as nice as can be about it but that does not alter the facts. They declare that they would rather have Roy than the new man and they have definitely offered to retain him if he can bring in even one thousand pounds. I suppose they have some sort of compunction about turning him adrift, for they have asked him to think it over and let them know on Monday. Of course, that is the end of it. It may be—I don’t know—I don’t like to think, how long before Roy gets another position equally good. We must endeavour to get this house off our hands and creep back to our three rooms. It is … luck.”

      Carrados had been listening to her wonderfully musical voice as another man might have been drawn irresistibly to watch the piquant charm of her delicate face.

      “Yes,” he assented, almost to himself, “it is that strange, inexplicable grouping of men and things that, under one name or another, we all confess … just luck.”

      “Of course you will not mention this to Uncle Louis yet, Mr Carrados?”

      “If you do not wish it, certainly not.”

      “I am sure that it would distress him. He is so soft-hearted, so kind, in everything. Do you know, I found out that he had had an invitation to dine somewhere and meet some quite important people on Tuesday. Yet he came here instead, although most other men would have cried off, just because he knew that we small people would have been disappointed.”

      “Well, you can’t expect me to see any self-denial in that,” exclaimed Carrados. “Why, I was one of them myself.”

      Elsie Bellmark laughed outright at the expressive disgust of his tone.

      “I had no idea of that,” she said. “Then there is another reason. Uncle is not very well off, yet if he knew how Roy was situated he would make an effort to arrange matters. He would, I am sure, even borrow himself in order to lend us the money. That is a thing Roy and I are quite agreed on. We will go back; we will go under, if it is to be; but we will not borrow money, not even from Uncle Louis.”

      Once, subsequently, Carrados suddenly asked Mr Carlyle whether he had ever heard a woman’s voice roll like a celestial kettle-drum. The professional gentleman was vastly amused by the comparison, but he admitted that he had not.

      “So that, you see,” concluded Mrs Bellmark, “there is really nothing to be done.”

      “Oh, quite so; I am sure that you are right,” assented her visitor readily. “But in the meanwhile I do not see why the annoyance of your next-door neighbour should be permitted to go on.”

      “Of course: I have not told you that, and I could not explain it to uncle,” she said. “I am anxious not to do anything to put him out because I have a hope—rather a faint one, certainly—that the man may be willing to take over this house.”

      It would be incorrect to say that Carrados pricked up his ears—if that curious phenomenon has any physical manifestation—for the sympathetic expression of his face did not vary a fraction. But into his mind there came a gleam such as might inspire a patient digger who sees the first speck of gold that justifies his faith in an unlikely claim.

      “Oh,” he said, quite conversationally, “is there a chance of that?”

      “He undoubtedly did want it. It is very curious in a way. A few weeks ago, before we were really settled, he came one afternoon, saying he had heard that this house was to be let. Of course I told him that he was too late, that we had already taken it for three years.”

      “You were the first tenants?”

      “Yes. The house was scarcely ready when we signed the agreement. Then this Mr Johns, or Jones—I am not sure which he said—went on in a rather extraordinary way to persuade me to sublet it to him. He said that the house was dear and I could get plenty, more convenient, at less rent, and it was unhealthy, and the drains were bad, and that we should be pestered by tramps and it was just the sort of house that burglars picked on, only he had taken a sort of fancy to it and he would give me a fifty-pound premium for the term.”

      “Did he explain the motive for this rather eccentric partiality?”

      “I don’t imagine that he did. He repeated several times that he was a queer old fellow with his whims and fancies and that they often cost him dear.”

      “I think we all know that sort of old fellow,” said Carrados. “It must have been rather entertaining for you, Mrs Bellmark.”

      “Yes, I suppose it was,” she admitted. “The next thing we knew of him was that he had taken the other house as soon as it was finished.”

      “Then he would scarcely require this?”

      “I am afraid not.” It was obvious that the situation was not disposed of. “But he seems to have so little furniture there and to live so solitarily,” she explained, “that we have even wondered whether he might not be there merely as a sort of caretaker.”

      “And you have never heard where he came from or who he is?”

      “Only