First Person Paramount Part 32

"Mr. Ducker is at present in Chicago. My name is Sims." he replied.

"Kindly take that chair. By the way, have I the honour of your acquaintance?"

"No, Mr. Sims; my name is Brown."

"Ah! And you wished to see me----"

"On private business, extremely important business, Mr. Sims." I glanced suggestively at the ancient shorthand writer, who appeared to be dozing.

"My confidential clerk, Mr. Brown," explained Mr. Sims. "You may speak before him."

"Excuse me," said I, "I am merely a messenger, and my directions are particular."

Mr. Sims raised his eyebrows, and curtly commanded his satellite to leave the room. The ancient awoke with a start, and nervously departed.

"May I lock the door?" I asked.

"Your business must be mighty curious, Mr. Brown," he replied, looking utterly astonished.

"It is," I answered simply, looking straight into his eyes.

He sprang to his feet, crossed the room, and locked the door.

"Now?" said he, returning.

"Thank you, Mr. Sims."

"Well?"

"It is my province to convince you, sir, that by momentarily disregarding the ordinary rules of courtesy which hold in your profession, you may secure a client whose business will yield you greater profit than that of any dozen others whom you have. Nay, sir, I speak on hearsay, but advisedly, for my master is well aware of the substantial undertakings of your firm."

"Your master must be a large operator," he muttered with a gasp.

I smiled. "He is, indeed."

"And his name?"

"I am forbidden to relate it, sir."

He frowned and gazed at me, the most puzzled and astonished man in London.

"What do you want, then," he demanded.

"My master wishes you to call upon him, Mr. Sims. He is unable to visit you, for reasons which he will personally explain if you will comply with his request!"

"This is most unusual!" he replied. "Where is he to be found?"

"I can only tell you, sir, if you consent to give me your word, as a man of honour, that you will go to see him at three o'clock this afternoon. I should tell you, Mr. Sims, that if you refuse, your own will be the only disadvantage."

"I--I--I never heard of such a thing in my life!" he stammered.

"But--but--in any case, I cannot go--at three o'clock. I have a pressing business engagement."

I got to my feet, smiling contemptuously. "Then I have only to thank you for your patience, Mr. Sims," I said, with an expressive shoulder shrug. "Good-morning, sir!"

"I could go at four!" he cried, of a sudden.

I glanced at him, and perceived that the day was mine. Curiosity was simply eating the man. I smiled and, shook my head. "My master said Three!"

"With a great effort, I could make it half-past. What do you say, Mr.

Brown; shall we split the difference?"

"I cannot, Mr. Sims. I would be dismissed at once."

"Then, three."

"And your word of honour, sir?"

He nodded. I liked that nod.

"You will find my master at the Golden Grove Hotel, in Lambert Road," I said. "Kindly ask for Mr. Agar Hume."

His face fell, and he looked absurdly disappointed.

"Agar Hume! Lambert Road!" he muttered in amazed disgust.

"Believe me, sir, it is unwise to judge men by the sounds of names, which may or not belong to them. Stelfox Steele imparts a strangely furtive signification to the ear, and yet its owner is about the richest man and biggest operator on our little globe. I congratulate you upon your determination. A little later you will congratulate yourself. But in the meanwhile, let me recommend you to keep our interview a secret even from your partner. My master will be best pleased so. Good-morning, Mr. Sims!"

"One second!" he gasped. "Am I to understand--er--that--er--Mr. Stelfox Steele----"

"Is on his way to America," I interrupted sharply. "Good-morning, sir!"

Whereupon, hastily unfastening the door, I made my escape before he had time to say another word.

After bolting an apology for a lunch, I drove back to Lambert Road in a fourwheeler. During the journey, I contrived to become Agar Hume again, for I did not wish the people in my little inn to see a dozen different persons using my room as if it belonged to them. The driver stared at me aghast when I alighted. He had taken up an old man, and he put down a young one. I detest sharp-eyed cab-drivers, they are a public nuisance.

It was striking two as I entered my bedroom. At half-past, I resembled J. Stelfox Steele as closely as I wished. In order to make up the difference in our heights, I was obliged to resort to a rather inconvenient trick. I took off my bed-clothes and spread them doubled on the floor of my sitting-room, at my own side of the table. These I covered with mats, and set my chair over all. I sprang thus two inches, in as many minutes, whether seated or erect, but I could not leave my pedestal, without losing those same inches; wherefore the inconvenience. I dislike tricks of that sort, but it is my rule never to neglect any detail that I am aware of, and as my pedestal was hidden by the table-cloth, and, moreover, I could not perceive any necessity to walk about during the forthcoming interview, I had really very little to grumble at. My last act was to don a huge brown beard, and a pair of goggles. These made me look like an old hayseed farmer, but J.

Stelfox Steele was underneath the disguise waiting to disclose himself.

When it wanted ten minutes to the hour, I left my bedroom, the door of which I locked, entered my sitting-room, and, mounting my pedestal, I sat down to wait. I had previously arranged a screen before the outer door, so that the servant who would show up Mr. Sims might not look in and remark my latest transformation.

I mention these details, not because they were of any urgent moment, but to evidence the amount of attention and forethought which I had bestowed upon the business in hand. The fact is, in my experience, it is always some absurdly finicking trifle, which, when neglected, brings disaster to the greatest undertakings. I was once hissed off the stage at Newcastle-on-Tyne, when attempting to impersonate Mr. Gladstone, because, forsooth, although my disguise was elsewise perfect, I had not remembered to change a pair of sharp-toed boots which I had worn a few minutes earlier while imitating Mr. Greatorex, a dandified celebrity of local fame. That failure had been a very bitter pill to swallow at the time, but it was of more real use to me than all my triumphs put together, and I never forgot the lesson that it inculcated.

Mr. Sims was only two minutes late. In answer to my brisk "come in, and shut the door behind you!" he entered silently, but as he turned the corner of the screen and caught sight of my bearded face, he uttered an unpremeditated little nervous laugh. "Just such a laugh any man might involuntarily utter, who had been wishing, but not expecting, the improbable to happen!" thought I. His laugh, translated into words, said this--"I never really believed you could be Stelfox Steele, Mr.

Agar Hume, in spite of what your wily secretary tried to hint!"

I stood up, and glared at him through my goggles.

"Mr. Sims?" I demanded.

He bowed, measuring me with a sweeping hawk-sharp glance.