South Wind(Fiscle Part-3), Norman Douglas [most important books of all time .TXT] 📗

Going To Be Sick,  I Tell You,  This Very Minute."

 

"Not Here,  Not Here! Third On The Left. But Surely,  My Dear Fellow,  You

Can Put It Off A Little Longer? Can't You Be Reasonable,  For Once In

Your Life? Just For Once In Your Life? Do Listen To What Those

Inebriated Lunatics Are Saying On The Balcony. . . ."

 

"What Did You Do To That Skunk,  Charlie?"

 

"Not If I Know It,  Young Man. I Promised My Mother I'd Never Tell.

Another Day,  Perhaps,  When I've Got A Little Whiskey Inside Me. It's

Too Funny For Words."

 

"You Oughtn't To Go Tickling Young Girls,  Charlie. It's Not Polite,  At

Your Age. . . ."

 

They All Cleared Out,  As It Seemed,  After Midnight; Some On All Fours,

Many Of Them Fairly Perpendicular. But When The Serving Lad Entered The

Premises In The Sober Light Of Morning,  To Clear Up The Debris,  He Was

Surprised To Perceive A Human Form Reclining Under A Table. It Was The

Young Norwegian Professor. He Lay There Wide Awake,  With Disheveled

Hair And An Inspired Gleam In His Eye,  Tracing On The Floor,  With The

Point Of A Corkscrew,  What Looked Like A Tangle Of Parallelograms And

Conic Sections. He Said It Was A Map Of Trinidad.

 

Chapter 25

 

 

 

 

As To Miss Wilberforce--She Was Becoming A Real Problem.

 

Once Again She Had Shocked The Faithful. She Had Misconducted Herself

By Interrupting The Torchlight Procession With Some Of Those Usual Or

Unusual Antics,  A Detailed Description Of Which,  While Entertaining To

A Few Lost Souls,  Would Certainly Mortify The Majority Of Decent Folks.

The Cup Of Endurance Was Full,  Overbrimming. Once Again She Had Passed

The Night In The Lock-Up. Questioned As To Her Motives For This

Particular Incident,  She Artlessly Blamed The Darkness Which Misled

Her,  She Said,  Into The Regrettable Delusion That It Was Night; "And At

Night,  You Know. . . ."

 

This,  As Signor Malipizzo Observed With His Usual Legal Acumen,  Might

Pass For An Explanation But Nevermore For An Excuse. How Much Longer,

He Continued,  With A Fine Ciceronian Gesture Of Eloquent

Indignation--How Much Longer Would The Foreign Colony On Nepenthe Endure

The Presence In Their Midst Of Such A Disgrace To Womanhood?

 

Thus Spake The Judge,  Well Aware Of What Was Expected From A Man In His

Position. In His Heart He Desired Nothing Less Than Her Departure; He

Was Charmed With Her Disturbing Influence; He Hoped She Would Live A

Hundred Years On The Island. In The First Place He Received Occasional

Gifts In Kind From Various Grocers And Wine-Merchants Who Enriched

Themselves By Supplying Her At Preposterous Prices With Intoxicants,

And Who Thought By These Subtle Tactics To Retain Him As An Ally In

Their Cause. Secondly And Chiefly,  Every New Scandal Of This Nature

Gave Him A Fresh Opportunity Of Consigning Her,  Temporarily,  To The

Lock-Up. Only Temporarily. Because Mr. Keith Would Be Sure To Bail Her

Out Again In The Morning,  Which Meant Another Fifty Francs In His

Pocket.

 

This Is Exactly What Had Just Taken Place. Mr. Keith Had Bailed Her

Out,  For The Thirty-Fourth Time. She Was At Liberty Once More,  Sobering

Down.

 

Both The Duchess And Madame Steynlin Pitied Her,  As Only One Woman Can

Pity Another. Often The Prayed To Their Respective Gods,  Lutheran And

High Church,  That She Might Be Led To See The Error Of Her Ways Or,

Failing That,  Removed By Some Happy Accident From The Island Or,

Failing That,  Run Over By A Passing Vehicle And Injured--Injured Not

Dangerously,  But Merely To Such An Extent As To Necessitate Her

Permanent Seclusion From Society. Other Careless Folk Were Maimed By

The Furious Driving Of The Nepentheans; It Was A Common Form Of

Accident. Miss Wilberforce--The Eye-Sore,  The Scandal Of Her

Sex--Remained Intact. Some Impish Deity Seemed To Guide Her Wayward

Footsteps.

 

Had She Been A Person Of Low Extraction There Would Have Been No

Difficulty In Dealing With Her. But She Was So Obviously A Lady--She Had

Such Obviously Rich And Influential Connections In England! These

People,  However Glad To Have Her Out Of The Way,  Might Object If

Violent Measures Were Taken By Persons Who,  After All,  Had No Right To

Interfere In Her Affairs. And The Situation Was Rendered None The Less

Complex By The Attitude Of Miss Wilberforce Herself. She Was A Tartar.

She Felt That All Men's Hands Were Against Her. She Used Her Tongue To

Good Purpose And,  At A Pinch,  Her Teeth And Claws. The Policemen Of

Nepenthe Could Bear Witness To That Fact. Drunk,  She Had A Perfectly

Blistering Flow Of Invective At Command. Sober,  She Was Apt To Indulge

In A Dignified Bestiality Of Logic That Cut Like A Knife. It Was Only

In The Intermediate Stage That She Was Affable And Human. But To Catch

Her In That Intermediate Stage Was Extremely Difficult. It Was Of Such

Very Brief Duration.

 

They Tried To Tempt Her With The Prospect Of Being Repatriated.

Strenuously She Opposed The Notion,  On Grounds Of Health. She Argued

That She Had Come To The South At The Bidding Of Her English

Doctor--Which Was True Enough,  That Grave Personage Having Been Urgently

Pressed By The Family To Make A Suggestion; A Return To England,  She

Declared,  Would Be The Death Of Her. If Any Attempt Were Made To

Interfere With Her Liberty In This Manner,  She Would Appeal To The

Local Court For Protection.

 

Then The Project Of Sending Her To An Inebriates' Home On The Mainland

Was Mooted. A Sprightly Young Clergyman,  Not Long Resident On Nepenthe,

Volunteered For The Delicate Task Of Persuading The Lady To Take This

Step; It Would Be Given Out That She Was Merely Undergoing A "Rest

Cure." The Sprightly Young Clergyman Started On His Mission Full Of

Bright Expectations. He Returned Anon,  Looking Prematurely Aged. Nobody

Could Get A Word Out Of Him At First; He Seemed Top Have Become

Afflicted With A Partial Paralysis Of The Tongue. After Babbling

Childishly For An Hour Or So He Fell Silent Altogether,  And It Was Not

Till Next Morning That He Recovered Full Powers Of Speech. Wild Horses,

He Then Announced,  Would Not Drag Form His Lips What Had Passed At The

Interview.

 

As A Last Resource It Was Decided To Inaugurate A Sanatorium On The

Island For Her Especial Benefit,  With A Trained Nurse Permanently In

Attendance; During Her Ever-Decreasing Spells Of Sobriety The Place,

Together With The Nurse,  Could Be Utilized For Needle-Classes And So

Forth. Money Was Required. A Committee Of Ladies And Gentlemen

Collected A Certain Small Amount,  But Their Hopes Did Not Rise High

Till The Day When The Duchess Broached The Subject To Her Countryman,

Mr. Van Koppen,  After Inveigling Him Into What She Called "A Friendly

Teat-A-Teat." Surfeited To Bursting-Point With His Favourite Tea-Cakes,

The Millionaire Was In A Lovely Humour. He Declared His Readiness,  Then

And There,  To Subscribe Half A Million Francs To The Scheme If--If His

Good Friend Mr. Keith Would Make Himself Responsible For A Similar Sum,

Or Even A Thousandth Part Of It.

 

"Half A Million Francs--What's That,  Duchess,  As The Price Of A Smile

From Yourself? Cheap. Dirt Cheap!"

 

"Another One?" Queried The Lady.

 

"Well,  Just One. I Can't Swallow Any More. But I Can Still Chew."

 

So Fatuously Fond Was He Of This Particular Variety Of Condiment That,

On Their Account Alone,  He Would Have Imported The Duchess And Her

Entire Establishment Into America. For All That,  Old Koppen Was No

Fool. Half A Million Buttered Tea-Cakes Could Not Impair The Lively

Workings Of A Brain Which Had Long Ago Mapped Out A Swift And Sure Path

To Worldly Success. He Had Wind Of This Project; His Answer Was

Carefully Prepared. It Was A Mathematical Certainty That Not One Cent

Of Those Half-Million Francs Would Ever Leave His Pocket. For He Knew

What The Committee Did Not Know--The Real Character Of His Friend Keith.

Keith Was A Good Fellow But A Hopeless Crank; Keith Was Perfectly

Capable Of Impoverishing Himself In Order To Keep Miss Wilberforce Out

Of Prison. As To Subscribing To The Schemes Of A Pack Of Meddling Fools

Who Proposed To Intern The Dear Lady--Keith Would See Them All Damned

First. This Is How Mr. Van Koppen,  A Profound Student Of Human Nature,

Would Have Argued,  Had He Lacked The Opportunity Of Discussing The

Question With His Good Friend. As A Matter Of Fact He Had Enjoyed That

Opportunity Only A Few Days Ago. He Had Warned Keith Of What Was

Coming,  And Had Found Him Equally Alert To The Plans Of The Committee

And More Desirous Than Himself,  If Possible,  Of Frustrating Them. They

Had Chuckled Vastly Over A Bottle Of Dry Sparkling Nepenthe In

Anticipation Of The Event.

 

"Trust Me," Said Keith. "I'll Talk Their Heads Off."

 

"I'm Glad I Shan't Be There!" Thought The American.

 

He Knew His Good Friend. Keith Could Be Decidedly Fatiguing,  Especially

When Dead Sober. He Had All The Scotchman's Passion For Dissecting The

Obvious,  Discovering New Facets In The Commonplace,  And Squeezing The

Last Drop Out Of A Foregone Conclusion.

 

It Was A Thousand Pities That The Duchess,  In The Exuberance Of Her

Triumph,  Spread Abroad The News Of The Millionaire's Promise. For That

News Had An Unfortunate And Unexpected Result. The Committee,  Which Up

Till Then Had Consisted Of Eight Reputable Members,  Now Swelled,

Rapidly And Mysteriously,  To Fourteen. Six New Gentlemen,  Including The

Unspeakable Mr. Hopkins,  Got Themselves Enrolled,  And All Six Of Them,

As Was Afterwards Made Manifest,  Were Persons Of Questionable

Integrity. By Dint Of Small Donations To The Fund Varying From Five To

Fifteen Francs,  They Had Contrived To Have Their Names Put Down; It Was

Worth While,  They Thought,  To Risk A Small Sum On The Chance Of Getting

A Slice Out Of Old Koppen's Half-Million Which Could Not Possibly Be

Used Up In The Rent Or Purchase Of A Three-Roomed Sanatorium.

 

A Committee Of Ladies And Gentlemen,  Formed For Charitable Purposes,

Should Be Like Caesar's Wife. This One Had Come To Resemble The Spouse

Of Claudius. Had The Upright And Intelligent Mr. Freddy Parker Still

Been Its Guiding Spirit,  He Would Soon Have Weeded Out These

Undesirable Elements And Kept The Pickings For Himself. But Mr. Parker,

Since His Lady's Illness,  Seemed To Be Withdrawn From All Worldly

Concerns. He Had Become Invisible. And Now That The Lady Was Dead He

Would Presumably Grow More Invisible Than Ever. It Was A Severe Blow To

All Concerned; To Nobody More Than To The Commissioner Himself When,  On

Emerging Into Society From His Mourning Retirement,  He Divined What A

Chance He Had Missed.

 

Every Single Member Of The Small Sub-Committee Who Came,  In Rather A

Formal Group,  To Communicate To Mr. Keith The Terms Of The

Millionaire's Offer And To Solicit His Participation In The Scheme,

Purposed To Attend The Funeral Of Mr. Parker's Lady. It Was The Right

Thing To Do. That Impressive Function,  Already A Day Overdue,  Had Been

Irrevocably Fixed For 10.30 A.M. At The Instance Of The Chief Medical

Officer Of Health. Accordingly They Reached The Villa Khismet At The

Matutinal Hour Of 9 A.M.,  Convinced That The Short Interval Would

Suffice To Cajole Out Of Mr. Keith A Sum Sufficient To Bind Old Koppen

To His Promise.

 

It Struck Them Afterwards That This Was Their Flagrant,  Initial

Mistake. They Ought To Have Controlled Their Impatience And Waited For

A More Opportune Occasion.

 

And They Would Have Waited,  But For The Fact That Mr. Hopkins,  A Person

Of Dubious Motives And Antecedents,  Had Insinuated Himself Into The

Deputation Not Without A Purpose Of His Own. This Gentlemen Insisted

That Delay Was Fatal. Mr. Keith,  He Argued,  Would Understand Their

Impatience. The Millionaire Was Sailing In A Day Or Two. One Might

Never Get That Cheque Cashed,  Or Even Signed,  Before He Left Nepenthe.

And Then? Why,  Then The Scheme Might Fall Through And--He Added To

Himself--How Was He Going To Get His Share Of The Plunder?

 

The Others,  The Respectable Ones,  Gave Way. Vainly They Remonstrated.

Vainly They Pointed Out That Old Koppen Was Not A Man To Go Back On His

Word; That A Cheque Could Be Made Out In America As Well As Anywhere

Else; That The Crux Of The Question Was Not The Millionaire But