The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton Part 10

Mr. Absolom re-examined the oak chest with a puzzled expression. Then he strolled away and joined a little knot of brokers who were busy discussing matters. The various remarks which pa.s.sed from one to another indicated sufficiently their perplexed condition of mind.

"The old man's dotty!"

"Not he! There's a game on somewhere!"

"He wants to buy in some of the truck!"

"Old Waddy knows what he's doing!"

Mr. Absolom listened for a while and then returned to the rostrum.

"Mr. Waddington," he asked, "ith it the truth that there are one or two pieces of real good stuff here, thent in by an old farmer in Kent?"

"Quite true," Mr. Waddington declared, eagerly. "Unfortunately, they all came in together and were included with other articles which have not the same antecedents. You may be able to pick out which they are.

I can't. Although I am supposed to be in the business, I never could tell the difference myself."

There was a chorus of guffaws. Mr. Waddington mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

"It is absolutely true, gentlemen," he pleaded. "I have always posed as a judge but I know very little about it. As a matter of fact I have had scarcely any experience in real antique furniture. We must get on, gentlemen. What shall we say for lot number 17? Will any one start the bidding at one sovereign?"

"Two!" Mr. Absolom offered. "More than it'th worth, perhaps, but I'll rithk it."

"It is certainly more than it's worth," Mr. Waddington admitted, dolefully. "However, if you have the money to throw away--two pounds, then."

Mr. Waddington raised his hammer to knock the chest down, but was met with a storm from all quarters of the room.

"Two-ten!"

"Three!"

"Three-ten!"

"Four!"

"Four-ten!"

"Five!"

"Six pounds!"

"Seven!"

"Seven-ten!"

"Ten pounds!"

Mr. Absolom, who so far had held his own, hesitated at the last bid. A gray-haired old gentleman looked around him fiercely. The gentleman was seemingly opulent and Mr. Absolom withdrew with a sigh. Mr.

Waddington eyed the prospective buyer sorrowfully.

"You are quite sure that you mean it, sir?" he asked. "The chest is not worth the money, you know."

"You attend to your business and I'll attend to mine!" the old gentleman answered, savagely. "Most improper behavior, I call it, trying to buy in your own goods in this bare-faced manner. My name is Stephen Hammonde, and the money's in my pocket for this or anything else I care to buy."

Mr. Waddington raised his hammer and struck the desk in front of him.

As his clerk entered the sale, the auctioneer looked up and caught Burton's eye. He beckoned to him eagerly. Burton came up to the rostrum.

"Burton," Mr. Waddington exclaimed, "I want to talk to you! You see what's happened to me?" he went on, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Yes, I see!

"It's that d--d bean!" Mr. Waddington declared. "But look here, Burton, can you tell me what's happened to the other people?"

"I cannot," Burton confessed. "I am beginning to get an idea, perhaps."

"Stand by for a bit and watch," Mr. Waddington begged. "I must go on with the sale now. Take a little lunch with me afterwards. Don't desert me, Burton. We're in this together."

Burton nodded and found a seat at a little distance from the rostrum.

From here he watched the remainder of the morning's sale. The whole affair seemed to resolve itself into a repet.i.tion of the sale of the chest. The auctioneer's attempts to describe correctly the wares he offered were met with mingled suspicion and disbelief. The one or two articles which really had the appearance of being genuine, and over which he hesitated, fetched enormous prices, and all the time his eager clients eyed him suspiciously. No one trusted him, and yet it was obvious that if he had advertised a sale every day, the room would have been packed. Burton watched the proceedings with the utmost interest.

Once or twice people who recognized him came up and asked him questions, to which, however, he was able to return no satisfactory reply. At one o'clock precisely, the auctioneer, with a little sigh of relief, announced a postponement. Even after he had left the rostrum, the people seemed unwilling to leave the place.

"Back again this afternoon, sir?" some one called out.

"At half-past two," the auctioneer replied, with a smothered groan.

CHAPTER VIII

HESITATION

Mr. Waddington called a taxicab.

"I can't stand the Golden Lion any longer," he explained. "Somehow or other, the place seems to have changed in the most extraordinary manner'

during the last week or so. Everybody drinks too much there. The table-linen isn't clean, and the barmaids are too familiar. I've found out a little place in Jermyn Street where I go now when I have time.

We can talk there."

Burton nodded. He was, as a matter of fact, intensely interested. Only a few weeks ago, his late employer had spent nearly every moment of his time, when his services were not urgently required at the office, at the Golden Lion, and he had been seen on more than one occasion at the theatre and elsewhere with one or another of the golden-haired ladies behind the bar. Mr. Waddington--fortunately, perhaps, considering his present predicament!--was a bachelor.

The restaurant, if small, was an excellent one, and Mr. Waddington, who seemed already to be treated with the consideration of a regular customer, ordered a luncheon which, simple though it was, inspired his companion with respect. The waiter withdrew and the auctioneer and his quondam clerk sat and looked at one another. Their eyes were full of questions. Mr. Waddington made a bad lapse.

"What in h.e.l.l do you suppose it all means, Burton?" he demanded. "You see, I've got it too!"

"Obviously," Burton answered. "I am sure," he added, a little hesitatingly, "that I congratulate you."

Mr. Waddington at that moment looked scarcely a subject for congratulation. A spasm, as though of pain, had suddenly pa.s.sed across his face. He clutched at the sides of his chair.

"It's marvelous!" he murmured. "A single word like that and I suffer in an absolutely indescribable sort of way. There seems to be something pulling at me all the time, even when it rises to my lips."