The Yellow Claw by Sax Rohmer (i like reading books TXT) 📕

attired in discreet black, set out to make the acquaintance of his hypothetical employer.

He found Mr. Gianapolis to be a little and very swarthy man, who held his head so low as to convey the impression of having a pronounced stoop; a man whose well-cut clothes and immaculate linen could not redeem his appearance from a constitutional dirtiness. A jet black mustache, small, aquiline features, an engaging smile, and very dark brown eyes, viciously crossed, made up a personality incongruous with his sheltering silk hat, and calling aloud for a tarboosh and a linen suit, a shop in a bazaar, or a part in the campaign of commercial brigandage which, based in the Levant, spreads its ramifications throughout the Orient, Near and Far.

Mr. Gianapolis had the suave speech and smiling manner. He greeted Soames not as one greets a prospective servant, but as one welcomes an esteemed acquaintance. Following a brief chat, he proposed an adjournment to a neighboring saloon bar; and there, over cocktails, he conversed with Mr. Soames as one crook with another.

Soames was charmed, fascinated, yet vaguely horrified; for this man smilingly threw off the cloak of hypocrisy from his companion's shoulders, and pretended, with the skill of his race, equally to nudify his own villainy.

“My dear Mr. Soames!” he said, speaking almost perfect English, but with the sing-song intonation of the Greek, and giving all his syllables an equal value—“you are the man I am looking for; and I can make your fortune.”

This was entirely in accordance with Mr. Soames' own views, and he nodded, respectfully.

“I know,” continued Gianapolis, proffering an excellent Egyptian cigarette, “that you were cramped in your last situation—that you were misunderstood”...

Soames, cigarette in hand, suppressed a start, and wondered if he were turning pale. He selected a match with nervous care.

“The little matter of the silver spoons,” continued Gianapolis, smiling fraternally, “was perhaps an error of judgment. Although”—patting the startled Soames upon the shoulder—“they were a legitimate perquisite; I am not blaming you. But it takes so long to accumulate a really useful balance in that petty way. Now”—he glanced cautiously about him—“I can offer you a post under conditions which will place you above the consideration of silver spoons!”

Soames, hastily finishing his cocktail, sought for words; but Gianapolis, finishing his own, blandly ordered two more, and, tapping Soames upon the knee, continued:

“Then that matter of the petty cash, and those trifling irregularities in the wine-bill, you remember?—when you were with Colonel Hewett in Nice?”...

Soames gripped the counter hard, staring at the newly arrived cocktail as though it were hypnotizing him.

“These little matters,” added Gianapolis, appreciatively sipping from his own glass, “which would weigh heavily against your other references, in the event of their being mentioned to any prospective employer”...

Soames knew beyond doubt that his face was very pale indeed.

“These little matters, then,” pursued Gianapolis, “all go to prove to ME that you are a man of enterprise and spirit—that you are the very man I require. Now I can offer you a post in the establishment of Mr. Henry Leroux, the novelist. The service will be easy. You will be required to attend to callers and to wait at table upon special occasions. There will be no valeting, and you will have undisputed charge of the pantry and wine-cellar. In short, you will enjoy unusual liberty. The salary, you would say? It will be the same as that which you received from Mr. Mapleson”...

Soames raised his head drearily; he felt himself in the toils; he felt himself a mined man.

“It isn't a salary,” he began, “which”...

“My dear Mr. Soames,” said Gianapolis, tapping him confidentially upon the knee again—“my dear Soames, it isn't the salary, I admit, which you enjoyed whilst in the services of Colonel Hewett in a similar capacity. But this is not a large establishment, and the duties are light. Furthermore, there will be—extras.”

“Extras?”

Mr. Soames' eye brightened, and under the benignant influence of the cocktails his courage began to return.

“I do not refer,” smiled Mr. Gianapolis, “to perquisites! The extras will be monetary. Another two pounds per week”...

“Two pounds!”

“Bringing your salary up to a nice round figure; the additional amount will be paid to you from another source. You will receive the latter payment quarterly”...

“From—from”...

“From me!” said Mr. Gianapolis, smiling radiantly. “Now, I know you are going to accept; that is understood between us. I will give you the address—Palace Mansions, Westminster—at which you must apply; and I will tell you what little services will be required from you in return for this additional emolument.”

Mr. Soames hurriedly finished his second cocktail. Mr. Gianapolis, in true sporting fashion, kept pace with him and repeated the order.

“You will take charge of the mail!” he whispered softly, one irregular eye following the movements of the barmaid, and the other fixed almost fiercely upon the face of Soames. “At certain times—of which you will be notified in advance—Mrs. Leroux will pay visits to Paris. At such times, all letters addressed to her, or re-addressed to her, will not be posted! You will ring me up when such letters come into your possession—they must ALL come into your possession!—and I will arrange to meet you, say at the corner of Victoria Street, to receive them. You understand?”

Mr. Soames understood, and thus far found his plastic conscience marching in step with his inclinations.

“Then,” resumed Gianapolis, “prior to her departure on these occasions, Mrs. Leroux will hand you a parcel. This also you will bring to me at the place arranged. Do you find anything onerous in these conditions?”

“Not at all,” muttered Soames, a trifle unsteadily; “it seems all right”—the cocktails were beginning to speak now, and his voice was a duet—“simply perfectly all right—all square.”

“Good!” said Mr. Gianapolis with his radiant smile; and the gaze of his left eye, crossing that of its neighbor, observed the entrance of a stranger into the bar. He drew his stool closer and lowered his voice:

“Mrs. Leroux,” he continued, “will be in your confidence. Mr. Leroux and every one else—EVERY ONE else—must not suspect the arrangement”...

“Certainly—I quite understand”...

“Mrs. Leroux will engage you this afternoon—her husband is a mere cipher in the household—and you will commence your duties on Monday. Later in the week, Wednesday or Thursday, we will meet by appointment, and discuss further details.”

“Where can I see you?”

“Ring up this number: 18642 East, and ask for Mr. King. No! don't write it down; remember it! I will come to the telephone, and arrange a meeting.”

Shortly after this, then, the interview concluded; and later in the