Part 5 (2/2)

Rapkin was a superior type of her much-abused cla.s.s. She was scrupulously clean and neat in her person; her sandy hair was so smooth and tightly knotted that it gave her head the colour and shape of a Barcelona nut; she had sharp, beady eyes, nostrils that seemed to smell battle afar off, a wide, thin mouth that apparently closed with a snap, and a dry, whity-brown complexion suggestive of bran.

But if somewhat grim of aspect, she was a good soul and devoted to Horace, in whom she took almost a maternal interest, while regretting that he was not what she called ”serious-minded enough” to get on in the world. Rapkin had wooed and married her when they were both in service, and he still took occasional jobs as an outdoor butler, though Horace suspected that his more staple form of industry was the consumption of gin-and-water and remarkably full-flavoured cigars in the bas.e.m.e.nt parlour.

”Shall you be dining in this evening, sir?” inquired Mrs. Rapkin.

”I don't know. Don't get anything in for me; I shall most probably dine at the club,” said Horace; and Mrs. Rapkin, who had a confirmed belief that all clubs were hotbeds of vice and extravagance, sniffed disapproval. ”By the way,” he added, ”if a kind of bra.s.s pot is sent here, it's all right. I bought it at a sale yesterday. Be careful how you handle it--it's rather old.”

”There _was_ a vawse come late last night, sir; I don't know if it's that, it's old-fas.h.i.+oned enough.”

”Then will you bring it up at once, please? I want to see it.”

Mrs. Rapkin retired, to reappear presently with the bra.s.s bottle. ”I thought you'd have noticed it when you come in last night, sir,” she explained, ”for I stood it in the corner, and when I see it this morning it was layin' o' one side and looking that dirty and disrespectable I took it down to give it a good clean, which it wanted it.”

It certainly looked rather the better for it, and the marks or scratches on the cap were more distinguishable, but Horace was somewhat disconcerted to find that part of his dream was true--the bottle had been there.

”I hope I've done nothing wrong,” said Mrs. Rapkin, observing his expression; ”I only used a little warm ale to it, which is a capital thing for bra.s.s-work, and gave it a scrub with 'Vitrolia' soap--but it would take more than that to get all the muck off of it.”

”It is all right, so long as you didn't try to get the top off,” said Horace.

”Why, the top _was_ off it, sir. I thought you'd done it with the 'ammer and chisel when you got 'ome,” said his landlady, staring. ”I found them 'ere on the carpet.”

Horace started. Then _that_ part was true, too! ”Oh, ah,” he said, ”I believe I did. I'd forgotten. That reminds me. Haven't you let the room above to--to an Oriental gentleman--a native, you know--wears a green turban?”

”That I most certainly 'ave _not_, Mr. Ventimore,” said Mrs. Rapkin, with emphasis, ”nor wouldn't. Not if his turbin was all the colours of the rainbow--for I don't 'old with such. Why, there was Rapkin's own sister-in-law let her parlour floor to a Horiental--a Pa.r.s.ee _he_ was, or _one_ o' them Hafrican tribes--and reason she 'ad to repent of it, for all his gold spectacles! Whatever made you fancy I should let to a blackamoor?”

”Oh, I thought I saw somebody about--er--answering that description, and I wondered if----”

”Never in _this_ 'ouse, sir. Mrs. Steggars, next door but one, might let to such, for all I can say to the contrary, not being what you might call particular, and her rooms more suitable to savage notions--but I've enough on _my_ hands, Mr. Ventimore, attending to you--not keeping a girl to do the waiting, as why should I while I'm well able to do it better myself?”

As soon as she relieved him of her presence, he examined the bottle: there was nothing whatever inside it, which disposed of all the hopes he had entertained from that quarter.

It was not difficult to account for the visionary Oriental as an hallucination probably inspired by the heavy fumes (for he now believed in the fumes) which had doubtless resulted from the rapid decomposition of some long-buried spices or similar substances suddenly exposed to the air.

If any further explanation were needed, the accidental blow to the back of his head, together with the latent suggestion from the ”Arabian Nights,” would amply provide it.

So, having settled these points to his entire satisfaction, he went to his office in Great Cloister Street, which he now had entirely to himself, and was soon engaged in drafting the specification for Beevor on which he had been working when so fortunately interrupted the day before by the Professor.

The work was more or less mechanical, and could bring him no credit and little thanks, but Horace had the happy faculty of doing thoroughly whatever he undertook, and as he sat there by his wide-open window he soon became entirely oblivious of all but the task before him.

So much so that, even when the light became obscured for a moment, as if by some large and opaque body in pa.s.sing, he did not look up immediately, and, when he did, was surprised to find the only armchair occupied by a portly person, who seemed to be trying to recover his breath.

”I beg your pardon,” said Ventimore; ”I never heard you come in.”

His visitor could only wave his head in courteous deprecation, under which there seemed a suspicion of bewildered embarra.s.sment. He was a rosy-gilled, spotlessly clean, elderly gentleman, with white whiskers; his eyes, just then slightly protuberant, were shrewd, but genial; he had a wide, jolly mouth and a double chin. He was dressed like a man who is above disguising his prosperity; he wore a large, pear-shaped pearl in his crimson scarf, and had probably only lately discarded his summer white hat and white waistcoat.

”My dear sir,” he began, in a rich, throaty voice, as soon as he could speak; ”my dear sir, you must think this is a most unceremonious way of--ah!--dropping in on you--of invading your privacy.”

”Not at all,” said Horace, wondering whether he could possibly intend him to understand that he had come in by the window. ”I'm afraid there was no one to show you in--my clerk is away just now.”

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