Danger! and Other Stories by Arthur Conan Doyle (best books to read .TXT) 📕

feet upon the stairs, and a handsome youth, dressed in the height of fashion, was standing framed in the open doorway.  The pose, the face, above all the curious, mischievous, dancing light in the large blue eyes, all spoke of the famous Tregellis blood.  Even such was Sir Charles when, twenty years before, he had, by virtue of his spirit and audacity, in one short season taken a place in London from which Brummell himself had afterwards vainly struggled to depose him.  The youth faced the angry features of his uncle with an air of debonair amusement, and he held towards him, upon his outstretched palms, the broken fragments of an amber cane.

“I much fear, sir,” said he, “that in correcting your fellow I have had the misfortune to injure what can only have been your property.  I am vastly concerned that it should have occurred.”

Sir Charles stared with intolerant eyes at this impertinent apparition.  The other looked back in a laughable parody of his senior’s manner.  As Ambrose had remarked after his inspection from the balcony, the two were very alike, save that the younger was smaller, finer cut, and the more nervously alive of the two.

“You are my nephew, Vereker Tregellis?” asked Sir Charles.

“Yours to command, sir.”

“I hear bad reports of you from Oxford.”

“Yes, sir, I understand that the reports are bad.”

“Nothing could be worse.”

“So I have been told.”

“Why are you here, sir?”

“That I might see my famous uncle.”

“So you made a tumult in his street, forced his door, and beat his footman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You had my letter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were told that I was not receiving?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can remember no such exhibition of impertinence.”

The young man smiled and rubbed his hands in satisfaction.

“There is an impertinence which is redeemed by wit,” said Sir Charles, severely.  “There is another which is the mere boorishness of the clodhopper.  As you grow older and wiser you may discern the difference.”

“You are very right, sir,” said the young man, warmly.  “The finer shades of impertinence are infinitely subtle, and only experience and the society of one who is a recognised master”—here he bowed to his uncle—“can enable one to excel.”

Sir Charles was notoriously touchy in temper for the first hour after his morning chocolate.  He allowed himself to show it.

“I cannot congratulate my brother upon his son,” said he.  “I had hoped for something more worthy of our traditions.”

“Perhaps, sir, upon a longer acquaintance—”

“The chance is too small to justify the very irksome experience.  I must ask you, sir, to bring to a close a visit which never should have been made.”

The young man smiled affably, but gave no sign of departure.

“May I ask, sir,” said he, in an easy conversational fashion, “whether you can recall Principal Munro, of my college?”

“No, sir, I cannot,” his uncle answered, sharply.

“Naturally you would not burden your memory to such an extent, but he still remembers you.  In some conversation with him yesterday he did me the honour to say that I brought you back to his recollection by what he was pleased to call the mingled levity and obstinacy of my character.  The levity seems to have already impressed you.  I am now reduced to showing you the obstinacy.”  He sat down in a chair near the door and folded his arms, still beaming pleasantly at his uncle.

“Oh, you won’t go?” asked Sir Charles, grimly.

“No, sir; I will stay.”

“Ambrose, step down and call a couple of chairmen.”

“I should not advise it, sir.  They will be hurt.”

“I will put you out with my own hands.”

“That, sir, you can always do.  As my uncle, I could scarce resist you.  But, short of throwing me down the stair, I do not see how you can avoid giving me half an hour of your attention.”

Sir Charles smiled.  He could not help it.  There was so much that was reminiscent of his own arrogant and eventful youth in the bearing of this youngster.  He was mollified, too, by the defiance of menials and quick submission to himself.  He turned to the glass and signed to Ambrose to continue his duties.

“I must ask you to await the conclusion of my toilet,” said he.  “Then we shall see how far you can justify such an intrusion.”

When the valet had at last left the room Sir Charles turned his attention once more to his scapegrace nephew, who had viewed the details of the famous buck’s toilet with the face of an acolyte assisting at a mystery.

“Now, sir,” said the older man, “speak, and speak to the point, for I can assure you that I have many more important matters which claim my attention.  The Prince is waiting for me at the present instant at Carlton House.  Be as brief as you can.  What is it that you want?”

“A thousand pounds.”

“Really!  Nothing more?” Sir Charles had turned acid again.

“Yes, sir; an introduction to Mr. Brinsley Sheridan, whom I know to be your friend.”

“And why to him?”

“Because I am told that he controls Drury Lane Theatre, and I have a fancy to be an actor.  My friends assure me that I have a pretty talent that way.”

“I can see you clearly, sir, in Charles Surface, or any other part where a foppish insolence is the essential.  The less you acted, the better you would be.  But it is absurd to suppose that I could help you to such a career.  I could not justify it to your father.  Return to Oxford at once, and continue your studies.”

“Impossible!”

“And pray, sir, what is the impediment?”

“I think I may have mentioned to you that I had an interview yesterday with the Principal.  He ended it by remarking that the authorities of the University could tolerate me no more.”

“Sent down?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this is the fruit, no doubt, of a long series of rascalities.”

“Something of the sort, sir, I admit.”

In spite of himself, Sir Charles began once more to relax in his severity towards this handsome young scapegrace.  His absolute frankness disarmed criticism.  It was in a more gracious voice that the older man continued the conversation.

“Why do you want this large sum of money?” he asked.

“To pay my college debts before I go, sir.”

“Your father is not a rich man.”

“No, sir.  I could not apply to him for that reason.”

“So you come to me, who am a stranger!”

“No, sir, no!  You are my uncle, and, if I may say so, my ideal and my model.”

“You flatter me, my good Vereker.  But if you think you can flatter me out of a thousand pounds, you mistake your man.  I will give you no money.”

“Of course, sir, if you can’t—”

“I did not say I can’t.  I say I won’t.”

“If you can, sir, I think you will.”

Sir Charles smiled, and flicked his sleeve with his lace handkerchief.

“I find you vastly entertaining,” said he.  “Pray continue your conversation.  Why do you think that I will give you so large a sum of money?”

“The reason that I think so,” continued the younger man, “is that I can do you a service which will seem to you worth a thousand pounds.”

Sir Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Is this blackmail?” he inquired.

Vereker Tregellis flushed.

“Sir,” said he, with a pleasing sternness, “you surprise me.  You should know the blood of which I come too well to suppose that I would attempt such a thing.”

“I am relieved to hear that there are limits to what you consider to be justifiable.  I must confess that I had seen none in your conduct up to now.  But you say that you can do me a service which will be worth a thousand pounds to me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And pray, sir, what may this service be?”

“To make Lord Barrymore the laughing-stock of the town.”

Sir Charles, in spite of himself, lost for an instant the absolute serenity of his self-control.  He started, and his face expressed his surprise.  By what devilish instinct did this raw undergraduate find the one chink in his armour?  Deep in his heart, unacknowledged to any one, there was the will to pay many a thousand pounds to the man who would bring ridicule upon this his most dangerous rival, who was challenging his supremacy in fashionable London.

“Did you come from Oxford with this precious project?” he asked, after a pause.

“No, sir.  I chanced to see the man himself last night, and I conceived an ill-will to him, and would do him a mischief.”

“Where did you see him?”

“I spent the evening, sir, at the Vauxhall Gardens.”

“No doubt you would,” interpolated his uncle.

“My Lord Barrymore was there.  He was attended by one who was dressed as a clergyman, but who was, as I am told, none other than Hooper the Tinman, who acts as his bully and thrashes all who may offend him.  Together they passed down the central path, insulting the women and browbeating the men.  They actually hustled me.  I was offended, sir—so much so that I nearly took the matter in hand then and there.”

“It is as well that you did not.  The prizefighter would have beaten you.”

“Perhaps so, sir—and also, perhaps not.”

“Ah, you add pugilism to your elegant accomplishments?”

The young man laughed pleasantly.

“William Ball is the only professor of my Alma Mater who has ever had occasion to compliment me, sir.  He is better known as the Oxford Pet.  I think, with all modesty, that I could hold him for a dozen rounds.  But last night I suffered the annoyance without protest, for since it is said that the same scene is enacted every evening, there is always time to act.”

“And how would you act, may I ask?”

“That, sir, I should prefer to keep to myself; but my aim, as I say, would be to make Lord Barrymore a laughing-stock to all London.”

Sir Charles cogitated for a moment.

“Pray, sir,” said he, “why did you imagine that any humiliation to Lord Barrymore would be pleasing to me?”

“Even in the provinces we know something of what passes in polite circles.  Your antagonism to this man is to be found in every column of fashionable gossip.  The town is divided between you.  It is impossible that any public slight upon him should be unpleasing to you.”

Sir Charles smiled.

“You are a shrewd reasoner,” said he.  “We will suppose for the instant that you are right.  Can you give me no hint what means you would adopt to attain this very desirable end?”

“I would merely make the remark, sir, that many women have been wronged by this fellow.  That is a matter of common knowledge.  If one of these damsels were to upbraid him in public in such a fashion that the sympathy of the bystanders should be with her, then I can imagine, if she were sufficiently persistent, that his lordship’s position might become an unenviable one.”

“And you know such a woman?”

“I think, sir, that I do.”

“Well, my good Vereker, if any such attempt is in your mind, I see no reason why I should stand between Lord Barrymore and the angry fair.  As to whether the result is worth a thousand pounds, I can make no promise.”

“You shall yourself be the judge, sir.”

“I will be an exacting judge, nephew.”

“Very good, sir; I should not desire otherwise.  If things go as I hope, his lordship will not show face in St. James’s Street for a year to come.  I will now, if I may, give you your instructions.”

“My instructions!  What do you mean?  I have nothing to do with the matter.”

“You are the judge, sir, and therefore must be present.”

“I can play no part.”

“No, sir.  I would not ask you to do more than be a witness.”

“What, then, are my instructions, as you