Part 3 (1/2)

Mr Francis Beveridge, for such it appeared was his name, was distinguished even for Clankwood. Though his antecedents were involved in mystery, so much confidence was placed in Dr Congleton's discrimination that the unknown stranger was at once received on the most friendly terms by every one; and, to tell the truth, it would have been hard to repulse him for long. His manner was perfect, his conversation witty to the extremest verge of propriety, and his clothes, fas.h.i.+onable in cut and of unquestionable fit, bore on such of the b.u.t.tons as were made of metal the hall mark of a leading London firm. He wore the longest and most silky moustaches ever seen, and beneath them a short well-tended beard completed his resemblance-so the ladies declared-to King Charles of unhappy memory.

The melancholic Mr Jones (quondam author of 'Sunflowers-A Lyrical Medley') declared, indeed, that for Mr Beveridge shaving was prohibited, and darkly whispered ”suicidal,” but his opinion was held of little account.

It was upon a morning about a week after his arrival that Dr Escott, alone in the billiard-room, saw him enter. Escott had by this time made his acquaintance, and, like almost everybody else, had already succ.u.mbed to the fascination of his address.

”Good morning, doctor,” he said; ”I wish you to do me a trifling favour, a mere bending of your eyes.”

Escott laughed.

”I shall be delighted. What is it?”

Mr Beveridge unb.u.t.toned his waistcoat and displayed his s.h.i.+rt-front.

”I only want you to be good enough to read the inscription written here.”

The doctor bent down.

” 'Francis Beveridge,' ” he said. ”That's all I see.”

”And that's all I see,” said Mr Beveridge. ”Now what can you read here? I am not troubling you?”

He held out his handkerchief as he spoke.

”Not a bit,” laughed the doctor, ”but I only see 'Francis Beveridge' here too, I'm afraid.”

”Everything has got it,” said Mr Beveridge, shaking his head, it would be hard to say whether humorously or sadly. ” 'Francis Beveridge' on everything. It follows, I suppose, that I am Francis Beveridge?”

”What else?” asked Escott, who was much amused.

”That's just it. What else?” said the other. He smiled a peculiarly charming smile, thanked the doctor with exaggerated grat.i.tude, and strolled out again.

”He is a rum chap,” reflected Escott.

And indeed in the outside world he might safely have been termed rather rum, but here in this backwater, so full of the oddest flotsam, his waywardness was rather less than the average. He had, for instance, a diverting habit of modifying the time, and even the tune, of the hymns on Sunday, and he confessed to having kissed all the nurses and housemaids except three. But both Escott and Sherlaw declared they had never met a more congenial spirit. Mr Beveridge's game of billiards was quite remarkable even for Clankwood, where the enforced leisure of many of the n.o.blemen and gentlemen had made them highly proficient on the spot; he showed every promise, on his rare opportunities, of being an unusually entertaining small hour, whisky-and-soda _raconteur_; in fact, he was evidently a man whose previous career, whatever it might have been (and his own statements merely served to increase the mystery round this point), had led him through many humorous by-paths, and left him with few restrictive prejudices.

November became December, and to all appearances he had settled down in his new residence with complete resignation, when that unknowable factor that upsets so many calculations came upon the scene,-the factor, I mean, that wears a petticoat.

Mr Beveridge strolled into Escott's room one morning to find the doctor inspecting a mixed a.s.sortment of white kid gloves.

”Do these mean past or future conquests?” he asked with his smile.

”Both,” laughed the doctor. ”I'm trying to pick out a clean pair for the dance to-night.”

”You go a-dancing, then?”

”Don't you know it's our own monthly ball here?”

”Of course,” said Mr Beveridge, pa.s.sing his hand quickly across his brow.

”I must have heard, but things pa.s.s so quickly through my head nowadays.”