Part 39 (1/2)
There was a crowd round them in a minute, including the beautiful old man in the court suit and gold chain, who called out:
”Vite! vite! un commissaire de police!”--a cry that was echoed all over the place.
Taffy saw the row, and shouted, ”Bravo, little un!” and jumping up from his table, jostled his way through the crowd; and Little Billee, bleeding and gasping and perspiring and stammering, said:
”He spat in my face, Taffy--d.a.m.n him! I'd never even spoken to him--not a word, I swear!”
Svengali had not reckoned on Taffy's being there; he recognized him at once, and turned white.
Taffy, who had dog-skin gloves on, put out his right hand, and deftly seized Svengali's nose between his fore and middle fingers and nearly pulled it off, and swung his head two or three times backward and forward by it, and then from side to side, Svengali holding on to his wrist; and then, letting him go, gave him a sounding open-handed smack on his right cheek--and a smack on the face from Taffy (even in play) was no joke, I'm told; it made one smell brimstone, and see and hear things that didn't exist.
Svengali gasped worse than Little Billee, and couldn't speak for a while. Then he said,
”Lache--grand lache! che fous enferrai mes temoins!”
”At your orders!” said Taffy, in beautiful French, and drew out his card-case, and gave him his card in quite the orthodox French manner, adding: ”I shall be here till to-morrow at twelve--but that is my London address, in case I don't hear from you before I leave. I'm sorry, but you really mustn't spit, you know--it's not done. I will come to you whenever you send for me--even if I have to come from the end of the world.”
”Tres bien! tres bien!” said a military-looking old gentleman close by, who gave Taffy _his_ card, in case he might be of any service--and who seemed quite delighted at the row--and indeed it was really pleasant to note with what a smooth, flowing, rhythmical spontaneity the good Taffy could always improvise these swift little acts of summary retributive justice: no hurry or scurry or flurry whatever--not an inharmonious gesture, not an infelicitous line--the very poetry of violence, and its only excuse!
Whatever it was worth, this was Taffy's special gift, and it never failed him at a pinch.
When the commissaire de police arrived, all was over. Svengali had gone away in a cab, and Taffy put himself at the disposition of the commissaire.
They went into the post-office and discussed it all with the old military gentleman, and the major-domo in velvet, and the two clerks who had seen the original insult. And all that was required of Taffy and his friends for the present was ”their names, prenames, t.i.tles, qualities, age, address, nationality, occupation,” etc.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'VITE! VITE! UN COMMISSAIRE DE POLICE!'”]
”C'est une affaire qui s'arrangera autrement, et autre part!” had said the military gentleman--monsieur le general Comte de la Tour-aux-Loups.
So it blew over quite simply; and all that day a fierce unholy joy burned in Taffy's choleric blue eye.
Not, indeed, that he had any wish to injure Trilby's husband, or meant to do him any grievous bodily harm, whatever happened. But he was glad to have given Svengali a lesson in manners.
That Svengali should injure _him_ never entered into his calculations for a moment. Besides, he didn't believe Svengali would show fight; and in this he was not mistaken.
But he had, for hours, the feel of that long, thick, shapely Hebrew nose being kneaded between his gloved knuckles, and a pleasing sense of the effectiveness of the tweak he had given it. So he went about chewing the cud of that heavenly remembrance all day, till reflection brought remorse, and he felt sorry; for he was really the mildest-mannered man that ever broke a head!
Only the sight of Little Billee's blood (which had been made to flow by such an unequal antagonist) had roused the old Adam.
No message came from Svengali to ask for the names and addresses of Taffy's seconds; so Dodor and Zouzou (not to mention Mister the general Count of the Tooraloorals, as the Laird called him) were left undisturbed; and our three musketeers went back to London clean of blood, whole of limb, and heartily sick of Paris.
Little Billee stayed with his mother and sister in Devons.h.i.+re till Christmas, Taffy staying at the village inn.
It was Taffy who told Mrs. Bagot about la Svengali's all but certain ident.i.ty with Trilby, after Little Billee had gone to bed, tired and worn out, the night of their arrival.
”Good heavens!” said poor Mrs. Bagot. ”Why, that's the new singing woman who's coming over here! There's an article about her in to-day's _Times_. It says she's a wonder, and that there's no one like her!
Surely that can't be the Miss O'Ferrall I saw in Paris!”
”It seems impossible--but I'm almost certain it is--and w.i.l.l.y has no doubts in the matter. On the other hand, McAlister declares it isn't.”