Part 20 (1/2)

”Make the best of it?” stormed Mr. Wackerbath. ”Stand by and see the best site in three counties defaced by a jimcrack Moorish nightmare like that! Why, they'll call it 'Wackerbath's Folly,' sir. I shall be the laughing-stock of the neighbourhood. I can't live in the beastly building. I couldn't afford to keep it up, and I won't have it c.u.mbering my land. Do you hear? _I won't!_ I'll go to law, cost me what it may, and compel you and your Arabian friends there to pull the thing down.

I'll take the case up to the House of Lords, if necessary, and fight you as long as I can stand!”

”As long as thou canst stand!” repeated Fakrash, gently. ”That is a long time truly, O thou litigious one!... On all fours, ungrateful dog that thou art!” he cried, with an abrupt and entire change of manner, ”and crawl henceforth for the remainder of thy days. I, Fakrash-el-Aamash, command thee!”

It was both painful and grotesque to see the portly and intensely respectable Mr. Wackerbath suddenly drop forward on his hands while desperately striving to preserve his dignity. ”How dare you, sir?” he almost barked, ”how _dare_ you, I say? Are you aware that I could summon you for this? Let me up. I _insist_ upon getting up!”

”O contemptible in aspect!” replied the Jinnee, throwing open the door.

”Begone to thy kennel.”

”I won't! I can't!” whimpered the unhappy man. ”How do you expect me--me!--to cross Westminster Bridge on all fours? What will the officials think at Waterloo, where I have been known and respected for years? How am I to face my family in--in this position? Do, for mercy's sake, let me get up!”

Horace had been too shocked and startled to speak before, but now humanity, coupled with disgust for the Jinnee's high-handed methods, compelled him to interfere. ”Mr. Fakrash,” he said, ”this has gone far enough. Unless you stop tormenting this unfortunate gentleman, I've done with you.”

”Never,” said Fakrash. ”He hath dared to abuse my palace, which is far too sumptuous a dwelling for such a son of a burnt dog as he. Therefore, I will make his abode to be in the dust for ever.”

”But I _don't_ find fault,” yelped poor Mr. Wackerbath. ”You--you entirely misunderstood the--the few comments I ventured to make. It's a capital mansion, handsome, and yet 'homey,' too. I'll never say another word against it. I'll--yes, I'll _live_ in it--if only you'll let me up?”

”Do as he asks you,” said Horace to the Jinnee, ”or I swear I'll never speak to you again.”

”Thou art the arbiter of this matter,” was the reply. ”And if I yield, it is at thy intercession, and not his. Rise then,” he said to the humiliated client; ”depart, and show us the breadth of thy shoulders.”

It was this precise moment which Beevor, who was probably unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, chose to re-enter the room. ”Oh, Ventimore,” he began, ”did I leave my----?... I beg your pardon. I thought you were alone again.”

”Don't go, sir,” said Mr. Wackerbath, as he scrambled awkwardly to his feet, his usually florid face mottled in grey and lilac. ”I--I should like you to know that, after talking things quietly over with your friend Mr. Ventimore and his partner here, I am thoroughly convinced that my objections were quite untenable. I retract all I said.

The house is--ah--admirably planned: _most_ convenient, roomy, and--ah--unconventional. The--the entire freedom from all sanitary appliances is a particular recommendation. In short, I am more than satisfied. Pray forget anything I may have said which might be taken to imply the contrary.... Gentlemen, good afternoon!”

He bowed himself past the Jinnee in a state of deference and apprehension, and was heard stumbling down the staircase. Horace hardly dared to meet Beevor's eyes, which were fixed upon the green-turbaned Jinnee, as he stood apart in dreamy abstraction, smiling placidly to himself.

”I say,” Beevor said to Horace, at last, in an undertone, ”you never told me you had gone into partners.h.i.+p.”

”He's not a regular partner,” whispered Ventimore; ”he does odd things for me occasionally, that's all.”

”He soon managed to smooth your client down,” remarked Beevor.

”Yes,” said Horace; ”he's an Oriental, you see, and, he has a--a very persuasive manner. Would you like to be introduced?”

”If it's all the same to you,” replied Beevor, still below his voice, ”I'd rather be excused. To tell you the truth, old fellow, I don't altogether fancy the looks of him, and it's my opinion,” he added, ”that the less you have to do with him the better. He strikes me as a wrong'un, old man.”

”No, no,” said Horace; ”eccentric, that's all--you don't understand him.”

”Receive news!” began the Jinnee, after Beevor, with suspicion and disapproval evident even on his back and shoulders, had retreated to his own room, ”Suleyman, the son of Daood, sleeps with his fathers.”

”I know,” retorted Horace, whose nerves were unequal to much reference to Solomon just then. ”So does Queen Anne.”

”I have not heard of her. But art thou not astounded, then, by my tidings?”

”I have matters nearer home to think about,” said Horace, dryly. ”I must say, Mr. Fakrash, you have landed me in a pretty mess!”

”Explain thyself more fully, for I comprehend thee not.”