XIII
The Goose and the Golden Egg
I met Dunford accidentally at Boulogne. I was struggling home from Chantilly, rather storm-tossed by adverse circumstances, it may be confessed, but imperturbably cheerful through all. Dunford, on the contrary, was depressed. I had struck up acquaintance with the man on the Rugby platform a year before, and had found him a dull, heavy dog; but coming across one another in the Rue Victor Hugo on a wet day we greeted each other cordially.
He had done pretty well on the Westenhanger course, he told me, and then, having nothing better to do, he had crossed on the previous day, and in pursuit of a system had lost on the little horses all that he had won on the big ones. I also have a system, a much better and simpler one than his, and as Dunford still had a few pounds left I proposed that we should go back to the rooms and retrieve his losses. He assented moodily, so we went to the casino and played the game my way, but not entirely my way, for at the very worst possible moments Dunford would introduce variations of his own, with the inevitable consequence that in half-an-hour he was as penniless as I was.
"I wish to Peter that I had never met you," he remarked ill-temperedly as we went out. "I had kept back enough to carry me to Newmarket. What on earth are we going to do now?"
The man was boorish, but I passed it with a glancing jest; after all, it had been his money. As it was still raining, I proposed that we should go to his apartment for the time.
He had a modest room in a cottage on the Boulevard Sainte-Beuve, near at hand. "Even yet," I said, laughing at the conceit, "we are by no means destitute. I have the half of a five-pound note, and logically that is two pounds ten, surely."
"Oh," he said, staring hard at me, "have you half a five-pound note, Sissley?"
"Certainly I have," I replied. "I have carried it about with me for two years."
"That's very strange, because, as a matter of fact, I happen to have half a five-pound note also."
I don't think that I was ever more surprised in my life, although it was only a simple coincidence after all.
"Which end is yours?" demanded Dunford as he hunted through his pocket-book.
"The signature," I replied, producing it. "And yours?"
His was the other end and we laid it down on the table beside mine. Really, they went very well together, although the numbers differed, of course, and the dates. His was for the 3rd of June, 1905, and mine for the 5th of June, 1903; it was scarcely noticeable.
Half mechanically, I took out a pocket-knife, and, placing the two halves together—as it happened they overlapped in the lettering—I began to cut them down to make a perfect whole. It was merely the pastime of an idle moment, I assure you.
"How did you get yours?" I asked carelessly.
"There was a rogue of a fellow that I wouldn't trust with a cracked shilling," he explained. "He must have something on account, he said, so I gave him the other half of this as a guarantee. Well, he didn't earn it, so I kept the second half, see? How did you get yours?"
There was no reason at all why I should not tell him.
"I obtained some valuable information for a degraded creature some time ago," I replied. "Affecting to profess gratitude, he asked me as a personal favour to accept the trifling gift of a five-pound note, but on second thoughts he decided to keep half of it until he had verified the facts. In the end he became undignified, and burned the second half before my face."
Dunford laughed outrageously. The good humour of a boor is always trying.
"What have you made of it?" he said, when he had finished.
I had trimmed the edges until they fitted perfectly. A strip of stamp paper completed the work.
"It is nothing but a joke," I said, tossing it across to him, "but if one were among friends who could appreciate the jest, it might serve as a means for much harmless pleasantry."
"Oh, it's nothing but a joke, of course," he said, examining it; "but, really, I think that the joke might pass, Sissley."
I deprecated the suggestion with a waggish finger.
"Consider, Dunford," I said warningly. "We are in a foreign land where Bank of England notes, although reverenced by the natives almost as much as English gold, are comparatively uncommon objects of the seashore, and are, therefore, submitted to a closer scrutiny than they would be at home."
"Let the jockey ride the horse, my lad," he replied pompously. "Are you going to change it, or am I?"
I gave him the honour gracefully.
"You have the presence, Dunford," I admitted, "and that particular variety of fatness that never fails to carry to the public mind the suggestion of prosperity. At the moment you look in every way more of a five-pound note than I do. It must be you."
"Very well," he grunted. "Let me; that's all."
"But not here," I suggested. "Don't send out for change. Let it be to-morrow, in the ordinary way of making a purchase somewhere. That's half the business."
He nodded. "I'll tell you what, Sissley," he said. "I'll try a money bureau. Right in the glare of the limelight, my boy! What if it doesn't come off? I've been had with a wrong 'un, that's all."
I came nearer admiring him then than ever before—or since.
"Excellent!" I cried. "That stamps it as a merry jest throughout."
"Well, you and your wit can have the armchair for the night," he said, half-grudgingly. Had I been host, my guest should have had the bed; but such was the man.
The next morning Dunford went out after breakfast, and in less than half-an-hour returned with six gold pieces, three francs and a half, and the admission that he had expended the other two francs in a small bottle of Bass.
"It's too easy, my son," he said, swelling with self-consequence. "Always put your money with the Old Firm. Who gave Yellow Rambler at a thousand to eight for the Warlaytree Plate? We are the people. Coming out?"
"Presently," I said, "presently; but, in the meantime, I should like a few minutes of your serious attention. While you have been out—drinking beer, Dunford—I have been thinking."
"Let it go at that," he retorted. "Yes; while I have been out doing the work, you have been snoozing in the easy-chair."
"You scintillate to-day, positively," I laughed. "Well, touching your adventure—what sort of a place did you get to?"
He looked at me out of his pale eyes with dull curiosity.
"An ordinary money-changer's shop," he replied. "The fellow is a German. I saw him make sure that the secret marks were right—'secret marks,' my Peter, when every little josser on an office-stool knows 'em!—and he thumbed the top right corner with guileless faith. What about it?"
"Did you ever hear of a certain goose, Dunford?" I asked airily—"a certain goose, Dunford?"
I emphasised the point, for it was frequently my humour to hold up the heavy, unsuspecting man to the shafts of my derision solely for my own inward amusement.
"What goose?" he demanded, half inclined to be angry without knowing exactly why.
"It laid a golden egg," I replied. "Until its owner short-sightedly killed it. If you had a goose that laid a golden egg, would you kill it, Dunford?"
"Don't talk rot!" he said irritably.
I laughed good-humouredly. He was obviously uneasy at not being able to follow the delicate play of my mind, but I said no more.
I waited for a few hours, and then, leaving Dunford with an excuse, I sought out his German friend. He had a little shop just off the tram route, and, after the manner of his kind, he displayed his stock-in-trade behind his well-protected window. There I saw our note, and saw also that it was the only one of its sort.
There is a great deal in the air of approach before a word is spoken. I entered the shop as a typical holiday-making Briton; I neared the counter with the smile of a friend; and I am sure that my greeting conveyed to the attending Teuton the suggestion of a benevolent interest in his welfare. Then I informed him that I required a five-pound note; and having only the sum of fifty-three francs in my possession I made some discreet demonstration with it.
The elderly German reached out his note and placed it before me, while I passed the time with gay badinage on the subject of the profits of money-changing and usury at large. I also told him a funny story about a countess and a runaway flying-machine, and generally established myself on genial terms with him. Then I began to count out my francs.
At forty-eight the smile faded from my face, and a startled, even pained, look took its place. Mechanically I counted out three more francs—stopped—then swept the lot back into my pocket. I flatter myself that it was delicately led up to—first, an almost imperceptible arrest of the bubbling gaiety of expression, a half-incredulous doubt; then a swift, hawk-like glance into his face; another sharp examination of the note, here, there; and with grieved conviction I straightened myself up and pushed the note away.
But I had no intention of becoming unapproachable. Well, were we not both men of the world? The attempt—if attempt it had been, and not mere accident—had failed. I had been too sharp, and I was not a penny the worse off. Gradually my good-humour returned. I smiled—I smiled roguishly, and shook my head sagely from side to side in amiable reproof.
"Oh, no, my friend," I said mildly; "not to-day. Oh, by no means to-day with Mr. Walker, of London!"
I fear that much of the subtle range of emotion was wasted upon the German, who was a dull, heavy man, something like Dunford; so like, indeed, that I marvelled afterwards how the one could impose upon the other.
"What is the madder with it?" he said blankly. "It is a goot node, is it not? Yes, yes, it is goot."
"Oh, it is good enough logically," I admitted; "but not commercially. It is composed of two good halves, but the whole is not good."
"There is no hole," he protested earnestly. "See, it is in its entirety gomposed of two portions adhesively together emplanked, which is permissible. Yes, it is a goot node."
I smiled knowingly and pointed first at one number and date, then at the other. By word and expression I sought to convey the information that I was astute—but not unsympathetic.
"They goincide dissimilarly!" he exclaimed, sitting down helplessly. "Then I have been in-taken!"
"Oh, not necessarily," I said. "Possibly it was a genuine mistake. But it would never do for a man in your position to pass it off and then have it traced back to you."
"It is a thing ingomprehensible," he moaned. "Who ever heard of a node of two goot dissimilar portions gomposed?"
"Oh, for that matter I have had one myself," I said reminiscently; "and after the infernal trouble I had before I could get anything from the Bank for it, I shall not forget it in a hurry."
"Ach, then it is remediable?" he asked, brightening up a little.
"Well, you may call it a remedy," I said with a laugh, offering him a cigar and lighting one myself, "but as a matter of fact it's more like an amputation. It took me a month to find it out, and cost about half the value in fees. You have to advertise the facts, giving the two numbers and dates, once a week for three weeks in the Times, the Gazette, and—er—the Pink One. After that you can attend before the Lord Mayor of London and make a declaration, which has then to be taken to Doctors' Commons to be sworn, and to Somerset House to be stamped."
"Any common doctor can swear?" he asked hopefully.
"Possibly, but not in this case," I replied. "It is the King's Proctor, really."
"I have seen of him in the records," he remarked intelligently. "He interferes."
"I have known people who made the same complaint," I admitted. "All this, you understand, has to be done in person; no agents or intermediaries are allowed. Then you are summoned to attend before a meeting of the directors of the Bank of England, and, after you have produced two householders of the City who enter into bonds that they will be responsible for the money being returned if it has been wrongfully claimed, you receive the amount, less twenty per cent. deduction, in the form of a Treasury Bill payable three months after date upon personal application at the Board of Works. Our English methods are rather elaborate, I suppose, but the authorities are thoroughly safeguarded by the process."
The elderly person groaned in German and sat down and got up again three times.
"Mine frient," he said at length, "you are returning to London yourself in short?"
"Yes; 'Back to the old log cabin once again,' I suppose," I hummed airily.
"Log gabin?" he repeated helplessly; "ach! by steambode, to be sure. Well, you are what you call familiar with the rope. You shall haf this really goot though of two dissimilar halves gomposed node sheep. You shall haf him, yes, for sixty-five francs."
I smiled; I laughed quietly; I shook my head and hemmed and hawed. I was unwilling; I was not really interested. For I saw that the thing was practically done, and my part of the haggling could be carried out in the highest-minded manner possible. The German advanced my unique knowledge of the procedure, the commercial stagnation of Boulogne, and his own passionate love of the Fatherland. I replied with the inviolable dignity of London business life, Tariff Reform, and the uncertainty of human affairs. We met at forty-two francs, seventy-five.
I pass over Dunford's exclamation when I laid the note before him. It would convey little to the reader, as it would of necessity consist almost entirely of a line of dashes ending with a note of interrogation.
"This, Dunford," I said, dealing with the interrogation, "this is the goose that lays the golden egg—or else the golden egg that our goose has laid us. I purchased it from a poor German merchant who had been grossly imposed upon, and its selling price seems to be about one pound, fourteen shillings."
"Sissley," said Dunford fatly, "I'll take it all back, whatever I have said. I never thought much of you before"
"But it's a joke," I insisted. "A mad, merry midsummer freak. I positively decline to regard it in any other light than that of a jest. See, I have put down the elderly German's address in my pocket-book. In the course of time other addresses may be added, but to whatever length the list extends I shall certainly send to each the balance and explain our whimsical frolic, at a convenient season."
"—or since," concluded Dunford, eyeing the book with great disfavour.
We left Boulogne the next morning and moved on to Etaples, where the redemption price rose to thirty-seven shillings and sixpence, which Dunford said was too much; but at Abbeville it fell to one pound twelve. Turning back to the coast, we continued our sentimental journey through quaint old Normandy with no thought for the morrow. Each day, each new place brought its little contribution, and I may state that from Cape Griz Nez to Cherbourg the average value set upon a Bank of England five-pound note, "of two dissimilar halves gombosed," is one pound eleven shillings, and ninepence. On the coast it is slightly above that figure, inland proportionately below: an interesting fact for which I am quite unable to offer any explanation.
In our leisure—and business did not occupy more than two half-hours each day—I took Dunford to cathedrals and picture galleries, pointed out the historic associations of each place, and strove, though unsuccessfully, I fear, to awaken an interest towards the romantic and the beautiful in the gross man’s breast. In return, he took me to music-halls of the lower kind and to gambling dens. Yet he was capable in his department. He acquired a wonderful insight into the characters of money-changers, and rarely made a mistake. Englishmen and Americans he passed over, merely changing a piece of money with them, and if a Greek came forward he left the office at once without even that formality. Still, we had our rebuffs—who has not, when life is full of them? Twice the discrepancy was detected and Dunford had to extricate himself as feasibly as he could. At Dieppe a rude person made offensive remarks towards myself, which left me no alternative but to withdraw; at Rouen an ignorant oaf maintained to the end that the two halves of a Bank of England note always varied in number and date, "to make fraud more difficult"; while at Caen the note had already been passed out again. But by the time we reached Rouen we were in funds, and procuring two fresh notes we replenished our supply of golden geese.
Like all other pleasant things in life this simple idyllic existence, with its absence of sordid cares, its free, healthy occupation, and its assured ten pounds a week each, came to an end all too soon. It happened suddenly, and, I need hardly say, unexpectedly, at Rennes. Dunford had carried out his part of the business and retired. In the lightest-hearted manner possible I had followed him up, and with gay sallies and ingratiating address had depreciated the note to thirty-eight shillings, when an offensive-looking agent of the law rose from his lair behind the counter, and at the same moment a grotesque personage wearing a sword appeared in the doorway.
It is not necessary to go into the fullest details. Dunford, of course, like a craven traitor, fled at once, and I had the greatest possible difficulty in procuring the services of an advocate. I addressed myself to the representative of my native country, asking him to explain to the French authorities that if they persisted in their ludicrous mistake they would become contemptible in the eyes of the world, and requesting him to interest himself for my immediate release. His reply was to the effect that he was not interested. My lawyer advised me to abandon the plea that the transactions were a huge jest from beginning to end.
"But there is no other explanation of my innocence," I cried.
"That is true," he replied, "but you will get off rather lighter without it."
"The note-book," I reminded him; "it bears witness of my intention."
"It is being used as evidence against you. The suggestion is that you kept a list to avoid going to the same place twice."
I fell back speechless at the malignity of fate and the ingenuity of man. Even my irrepressible fount of gaiety was almost quenched.
In the end, a ridiculously got-up official, after some farcical proceedings, sentenced me to six months' incarceration in an unwholesome den. I have just finished this period, but I positively decline to consider that the whole burlesque travesty leaves the slightest reflection upon my character.
Hampton Hill, 1905.