Chapter V: The Quest of the Marble Statuette

Gilead, the most disinterested of utilitarians, had no sympathy with that order of State socialism which would deprive all personal effort of its motive and initiative by illegalising private Capital. On the contrary, he perceived in individual wealth the driving-wheels to an immense multitude of lesser parts, which, without that stimulus, would move sluggishly or not at all. Theoretic equality was no doubt a beautiful vision, only, as long as man should go lacking the eight beatitudes, he did not believe it a practical one. Disorder was the order of the human race, and that being so, no monotonous perfection, once attained, would long be suffered in peace. It was the way of the world, which builds on change and destruction, and will always of choice prefer the excitement of a picturesque and dangerous situation to the security of a tame one.

Now, while exhibiting in himself as complete a justification of capital as the world could afford, Gilead had by no means any qualms about spending his money exactly as he pleased. He was a young man of cultivated and artistic tastes, and these tastes he did not hesitate to indulge liberally. He had taken a set of rooms in the Albany, and was much interested in their equipment. On a certain occasion he spent three whole days hunting Japanese colour prints with an art expert, whom he much employed, without once going near the Agency. But on the fourth he recovered the thread of his duties.

Herbert Nestle, having as usual placed a copy of the _Daily Post_ before his principal, stood by to await his comments. One soon followed, à propos the following advertisement, which Gilead read out aloud:--

“_Young lady urgently in need of financial assistance to avert ruin. Every enquiry courted. No securities, but will repay honourably by installments. Address_ 023597 _Daily Post_.”

“I think,” said Gilead, “I shall make this my personal affair.”

He looked across at Miss Halifax, who, conscious of the implied challenge, answered evenly, but with a slight flush on her beautiful cheek:--

“Losses at bridge, probably, or motor fever. Granting that, it sounds plausible, Mr Balm.”

She was by this time an experienced and perspicacious Gileadite.

“Why, I think so too,” said her employer.

“The little bait,” she ventured, “is the only questionable part.”

“Bait? What bait?”

“She might have omitted the _young_, you see,” said the amanuensis. “People may construe it into an invitation to a personal interview.”

“Well, what harm, then?”

Miss Halifax turned one instant to him and, looking down again without speaking, resumed her work. He sat with his eyes fixed on her. Her sympathy and sweet reasonableness were generally so dependable that this sudden confession of the feminine sting in her a little surprised him. He did not like to think of it as wilful. His admiration for her was very great, and sometimes disturbing to himself. She had taken latterly to a black dress, as most becoming her official position, and the contrast it made with her creamy neck, and flower-like face, and lovely hair was sometimes dazzling. He found it often difficult to dissociate the beauty of her soul and body, or to estimate from which she drew her greater attractiveness.

He went out almost immediately, and without another word, and the moment he was well away the young lady turned on the secretary.

“Why did you let him see that advertisement at all?”

“It is its third appearance in three days,” answered Nestle, “and I judged it no good to keep from him what he had probably already noticed. What is it you fear?”

He took a calendar containing a scrap of mirror from the mantelpiece, and put it down before her face. She pushed his hand away, with a peevish shrug of her shoulders, and he laughed and went off about his business.

In the meanwhile Gilead had taken his way to the business offices of the _Daily Post_, where he made an enquiry at the desk appropriated to the reference number advertisements. “I desire,” said he, “to be put into communication with this,” and he signified to the clerk the appeal already quoted.

[image: images/img_082.jpg caption: “‘I DESIRE TO BE PUT INTO COMMUNICATION WITH THIS.’”]

The man accepted it with a profound deference. Gilead was well known at the bureau, and the privileges accorded to incalculable wealth, with a known tendency to giving, were always his without the asking. The editor himself would have rejoiced, if personally approached, to put his entire resources at his disposal; but the young plutocrat, with a very proper pride of fitness, would allow no claims of his own to ride at any time superior to the ordinary claims of courtesy or good-breeding.

Somewhat to his surprise, the clerk, having rapidly scanned the item, leaned forward to invite his ear to the opening in the brass wire netting which divided him from the public.

“There’s the advertiser herself, Mr Balm,” he whispered, “standing by the swing door.”

He signified the entrance into the street. This atrium to the great establishment was extensive, and glossy with mahogany and brass. Counters ran down either side of it, and its doors were as imposing as a bank’s. By one of these stood a slight young woman, awaiting apparently the termination of a sudden shower which was deluging the streets. She made a quite insignificant figure among the many that thronged the hall.

“One word,” said Gilead. “She has been to enquire about answers, I suppose? Were there any?”

“Not one, Mr Balm.”

Gilead nodded, and turned away. A slight smile was on his lips. ‘The bait,’ he was thinking, ‘does not appear to have been a very killing one.’

At that moment the young lady moved, pushed at the swing-doors, and disappeared into the open. Gilead, following, started in pursuit, and very quickly overtook her.

She went before him down Fleet Street, into the Strand, and, at Wellington Street, turned to cross the bridge. She walked fast, and he had enough to do to keep pace with her. It was still raining, and it struck him as curious that, although she was quite daintily attired, she never seemed to think of opening the umbrella she carried in her hand. The fact gave him a qualm, and in some way prepared him for the scene to follow. About the middle of the bridge he was delayed by a momentary pressure in the foot traffic, and, darting round and beyond the obstruction, suddenly saw his quarry in the grasp of a policeman.

The next instant he formed one of the group, sympathetic and protective.

“She was going over, Constable?” he whispered. “Is that so?”

The man recognized him at once. He was known to half the force.

“I see it in her eye, Mr Balm,” he said. “She’d have gone the next moment.”

He held the girl by the elbow, and Gilead saw her face for the first time. It was youth stricken into instant age, white, stunned, breathless. She made no effort to speak or escape--indeed she could not. The strung nerves had snapped at a touch, and she was paralyzed.

“I’ll make myself responsible for her,” said Gilead. “Quick, we mustn’t let a crowd gather.”

The constable, prompt man, bent down to the half blind, half deaf young face.

“You’re took bad, Missy,” he said; “you aren’t yourself. Now you just go with this gentleman, who’ll do you more good than all the doctors in the world.”

He held her, spoke to her, shouldered away an over-officious bystander or so, and stopped an empty four-wheeler, all with that comprehensiveness of resource which characterizes the London policeman. In another minute Gilead was rolling away, in charge of his poor little capture.

He did not address her for some time, not until, cowered into her corner, she suddenly gave a moan, and put her hands before her face. And then he spoke, in the voice that was like his name:--

“You mustn’t be frightened; you mustn’t mistrust me. I had come to answer your advertisement, to offer you help, when you were pointed out to me and I followed you. Now the help is very near--as near as the end of your trouble, I am sure.”

She appeared to listen; but no power was yet hers to answer.

“I know,” said Gilead, “I know. Some misery; someone’s wickedness--we have many such cases, and I know. I am going to take you where you will find rest, and sympathy, and strong wills to back you. You must just believe me, and not speak a word.”

He had his intention formed, and drove straight to the luxurious little flat, situated in the neighbourhood of Victoria Street, which his princely liberality had enabled Miss Halifax to take and furnish. He desired to retort upon that young lady with the fruits of her own scepticism, and to make her good-humouredly answer for it by succumbing to the bait which she had erstwhile depreciated. Arrived there, he delivered his charge, now partly recovered, but dazed and inclined to tears, to the lift-porter, with orders that he was to convey her to Miss Halifax’s rooms, and there keep her under unobtrusive observation until his return; having done which, he returned to his office, and confided the whole business to his fair amanuensis.

“Now,” said he, “I know nothing personally about the attractiveness of the bait; but I am very sure that no appeal is necessary to you to swallow it with a perfect grace. I have asked no questions, and penetrated no secrets. Why should I, when, in the loving sympathy and understanding of one of her own sex, she could seek the confidence which it would have been only an unjustified impertinence in me to offer.”

She looked at him, with her eyes shining.

“I think, Mr Balm,” she said softly, “that the Quest of the Holy Grail is still inspiring some Knightly spirits in the world”--a cryptic utterance which he could not quite interpret.

They lost no time in returning to the flat. She addressed her lovely face to him on the threshold.

“I believe,” she said, smiling, “that you have never once yet condescended to visit the beautiful home which I owe to your kindness.”

“I merely found the setting for a thing of value,” he said, with perfect sincerity. “I can only say that it seemed to me, when I first went over it, something less than an adequate acknowledgement of your great services to the office.”

She sighed, a very little sigh, and they entered the lift together. He never had a doubt of the solace he was bringing to the poor little life above with its broken wings; and, indeed, the instant the child saw Vera enter, she rose, and standing breathless a little, with her face like a white wet flower, threw herself suddenly into the warm generous arms, and abandoned herself and her cause to that lovely refuge.

Gilead turned away, and, while he stood thus, he heard the first words of understanding uttered, and of reassurance, and of mastering control. Then a door shut, and he was alone in the room.

He was quite satisfied, and prepared to await developments as long as necessary. The appointments of the room pleased him extremely. He had hardly expected such taste, remembering the Norwood villa; but that, he reflected, had not represented Miss Halifax’s independent views. Here all was simple and harmonious, straight lines and flat tones, with rich sombre gleams of brass and pottery for their sole emphasis. The only photograph (blest deficiency) that was visible, stood on a Sheraton bureau in a dusky corner by the window. Venturing to inspect it, Gilead discovered to his concern that it was one of Herbert Nestle.

He shrank away, as if he had unwittingly surprised a secret. An odd pang shot through his breast. He turned and stood for a long while staring at nothing out of the window. And then he came about, with a grave smile, and a resolve in his heart.

“Why should I wonder,” he thought. “And still more, why should I grudge it? It would be, after all, an ideal union of interests. And there is no reason why it should separate us. On the contrary, it might very well cement our partnership. I will certainly use my best unobtrusive efforts to promote the match.”

When Miss Halifax returned to him, which she did only after a pretty long interval, he received her with a manner of courteous distinction, which, as eschewing all claim to familiarity, evidently surprised and disturbed her. She looked about her for a reason; and, being astonishingly quick-witted, instantly divined the right one. She bit her lip, and went a trifle pale; but immediately controlled herself and proceeded to the matter in hand.

“I have heard the whole story,” she said. “It has made my blood boil, Mr Balm. The poor little thing! Heaven certainly sent her her protecting angel to retort upon a villain.”

“No,” said Gilead, perfectly unconsciously, “the retort is my business. Tell me as much of the story as is necessary to my taking action in the matter.”

“There is nothing to conceal,” answered Miss Halifax, “save--” she flushed a little--“one’s natural disgust in handling a reptile. His victim--or his intended victim, thank goodness--has been candid to me with the candour of a child. I have completely won her confidence and trust. She is asleep now, quite worn out. I shall keep her with me, Mr Balm, until you have decided upon the course you will pursue with her.”

Gilead bowed, with his eyes kindling.

“Of course,” he said; “I knew. If I ever found myself mistaken in you, Miss Halifax, I think I should close the Agency, and abjure my whole faith in human nature.”

She looked down, wreathing her fingers in her lap. For some moments she seemed unable to proceed.

“The child,” she said at length, with a resolute effort at self-command, “is no more than eighteen. Her name is Clarissa Snowe. She is an orphan these two years, during which time she had kept, until latterly, a little post of nursery-governess in a small family at Clapham. Some two or three months ago, however, her health broke down, and she had to cease work for a while. On her recovery she failed, utterly failed, to secure a fresh situation. She is very pretty, as no doubt you noticed?” (She paused; Gilead shook his head. “I was thinking of her misery, poor soul,” he murmured)--“and employers,” continued Miss Halifax, “especially of domestic labour, do not favour attractiveness of that sort. Clarissa had her little lodging in Battersea, and there she cherished a few heirlooms which had descended to her from her father, who in his turn had inherited them from his. With these, owing to her unhappy situation, and the debts she had incurred during her illness, she was obliged to part one by one--and, no doubt, at absurdly small figures--until there remained to her of them all only a single marble statuette of a child with a bird. She had kept this to the last, as her father, she knew, had always referred to it as a thing of value. But now, urged by desperation, she resolved to sell it. Somebody recommended to her Globesteins, the great art dealers in Chalk Street, Piccadilly, and thither she bore the statuette in a cab.”

Gilead nodded. “I have had some considerable dealings with Mr Globestein,” he said. “He is one of the first experts in London.”

“And one of the greatest cheats and villains,” cried Miss Halifax indignantly. “I hope, Mr Balm, you had someone to advise you?”

Gilead smiled.

“It is very possible you are right,” he said. “But, as there is no morality in art, you can hardly expect it in its dealers. Did Miss Snowe inform you of the name of the sculptor of this statuette?”

“Yes; it was Pigalle, or something of that sort.”

“Pigalle? Indeed. And Mr Globestein bought it of her--?”

“For ten pounds.”

Gilead winced--in his lips, and frowned and nodded.

“O!” cried Miss Halifax. “If it was, as I suppose, a wicked fraud, that was only the beginning of his villainy. Mr Globestein--who is, it seems, unmarried--after asking the poor thing a few penetrating questions, suggested that she should become governess-companion to his motherless children. She consented, of course, happy beyond measure over her good fortune, and removed her small belongings to his private house. There were no children there; and she was put off from day to day with plausible accounts of their present absence and soon return. The rest I may hurry over. Once secured in his home, this man persuaded her to take occasionally a hand at cards with himself and some of his friends. She lost, of course; he advanced her money; at length things reached the point at which he had been aiming, and he had her completely in his power. It was ruin for her either way; he threatened--”

Gilead put up a gentle hand.

“Spare yourself the pain. She was good, she was desperate--I understand--and as a final resource she decided to implore the help of strangers through the public press. The barrenness of the result, the inhuman silence, drove her in the end to her last chance of escape through self-destruction. I hold the child a heroine. Great God, the stony indifference of the world to her appeal!--no wonder it killed her heart. This man is a particular scoundrel. He shall bleed, Miss Halifax, he shall bleed, I promise you.”

She did not know, actually, if he implied a moral or a physical blood-letting, and she did not care. He was to her like a God whose decrees were never to be questioned. If he had killed, and said “This is just,” she would have believed him. She rose, as he did, and looked at him with her bosom heaving; and, without another word spoken by either, he left her.

A few minutes later he telephoned from his private office for his art adviser to come and see him at once.

“Dexter,” he said, when that gentleman was closeted with him, “what is the market value of a statuette by Pigalle?”

“Marble, Mr Balm?”

“Yes.”

“If indisputable, and his best work, anything from one to two thousand guineas and upwards. An example, not so long ago, fetched three thousand guineas at public auction.”

“Globestein has lately secured one for ten pounds. I want you to bear that in mind.”

“I will not forget it, Mr Balm. It is quite likely. The man is a clever rogue.”

“Very well. Now come with me to his place.”

They found Mr Globestein in. He came hurrying, all smiles, to greet his most distinguished patron. His rooms were luxurious caves of treasure-trove, to the gathering of which he had sacrificed whatever conscience he had once possessed. He was a tall, black-moustached man, neither ill-looking nor ostentatious in dress, but, if anything, somewhat over glossy in appearance. He gave one the impression of having rubbed shoulders with gentlefolks to the extent of acquiring all their superficial polish, and nothing more. His nose was fleshy, his lips were a little gross; there was a suggestion in his smile, assured but a trifle sickly, of a challenge to justice to prove a case against him.

“Mr Globestein,” said Gilead, “I have been told that you have a statuette by Pigalle for sale. Is that so? Tell me plainly. I desire no huckstering.”

He, the prince of courtesy, could be unmerciful to baseness. He treated this famous expert with a haughty intolerance which should have closed all dealings on the spot.

“It is perfectly true, Mr Balm,” said the dealer smoothly; “there is no reason why I should deny it.”

“You know best, sir,” answered Gilead. “You will let us see it, if you please.”

Mr Globestein conducted them into a further room, enriched like the other, and led them to a pedestal, on which stood a little marble figure of a girl, with a bird settled on her uplifted hand. They all stood silent by it for a while.

“Well, Dexter?” said Gilead presently.

“Unimpeachable,” answered the adviser; “and a first example.”

Mr Globestein laughed.

“You do me proud, Mr Dexter, sir,” he said, with a shadow of mockery in his voice. “I was really afraid you were going to impugn my judgment.”

The adviser came erect with a smile.

“Surely, Mr Globestein,” he said, “you should be the last to recommend the buying of a pig in a poke.”

“Enough, sir,” said Gilead. “Tell me, if you please, what is the price you ask for this?”

The dealer shrugged his shoulders slightly, and extended his hands.

“Pigalles,” he said, “are scarce and costly, Mr Balm. They rarely, very rarely occur. I could not, in justice to myself, ask a penny less than three thousand guineas.”

“It is too much.”

Mr Globestein sighed, shrugged again, and said nothing.

“It is too much, I say.”

“I will not deny, Mr Balm,” said the expert, “that your patronage and good opinion are of the first importance to me. I will make a concession to them, unprofitable enough to me, but I will trust to you to make it up in other directions. You shall have the statuette for three thousand guineas less the shillings, the exact price I gave for it.”

“You will let me have the statuette for the exact price you gave for it?”

“That is so, Mr Balm.”

“Dexter,” said Gilead; “you mark that?”

The adviser answered in the affirmative, wondering what was to come.

Gilead went to a desk, produced a cheque-book, wrote out a cheque, and handed it to the dealer. Mr Globestein accepted the draft obsequiously, glanced at the amount smilingly, started imperceptibly, and paled obviously.

“This is a pleasantry, Mr Balm,” he said, in a jocular voice that quaked somewhat. “Your cheque is for ten pounds only.”

[image: images/img_094.jpg caption: “‘THIS IS A PLEASANTRY, MR BALM,’ HE SAID.”]

“The exact price, sir, you gave for the statuette.”

He rose, frowning, in the sternness of his anger, and the dealer, in the very effort at a protest, cowered and shrunk silent before him.

“Perhaps, sir,” said Gilead, “it may have occurred to you by now that the nature of the task I have set myself brings me acquainted with the secrets of many underhand dealings. This morning was fortunate in revealing to me the destined victim of a piece of quite unexampled cupidity and baseness--your own. It need not concern you to know how, but it may to learn that a certain young lady has found the friends and protectors of whom she stood most sorely in need. You may refuse to permit me to remove this statuette, which is most surely mine on your own undertaking. In that case I shall take particular care to acquaint the world of the nature of your dealings, with what effect to yourself, coming from such a source, you may judge. If, on the other hand, you are wise, you shall still possess the opportunity to reacquire, by private treaty if you wish, and at the figure at which you implied it was worth your while to obtain it, the object in question. You shall have, Mr Globestein, the statuette back at the price of three thousand guineas; or you can cancel all obligations by accepting this cheque for ten pounds here and now. Which is it to be?”

Mr Globestein, speechless, and white to the lips, could only wave his hand renunciatory towards the pedestal.

“Dexter,” said Gilead, “have this carried down, and oblige me by calling a cab.”

He re-turned, with perfectly recovered serenity, upon the dealer.

“Mr Globestein,” he said, “you must permit me to congratulate you on the acumen which still does not fail you in a deal. You need not fear that I shall abandon you in your need of a prosperous customer. In your line you are invaluable, and no one would dream of accusing you of attempting to palm off upon inexperience a sham Pigalle. But in morality you are no expert, and it would do you no harm to take a lesson or so from much humbler individuals. Now, it may interest you to know that I shall very probably--always granting you the first refusal--retain this statuette for my own, while investing in the name of its former possessor a sum equal to your highest valuation. For the rest, it is quite likely that I shall be visiting you on business in the course of a few days. What a pity it is that you do not interest yourself in Japanese prints. I am investing quite a sum in Koriusais, and Haronobus, and Yeishis and the rest. I wish you a very good morning, Mr Globestein.”

“Good morning, Mr Balm, good morning, sir,” said the dealer--“and thank you.”