An Amiable Charlatan Part 32

Louis extended his hands. He was making his one effort.

"There is nothing wrong with me," he declared. "I left Stephano's to--as they say in this country--better myself. I am in charge here--next to Monsieur Giatron himself. If Monsieur Giatron should go back to Italy I should be manager. It seemed like a good post. Perhaps I was foolish to leave."

"Louis," Mr. Bundercombe protested, "I guess I didn't come round here to listen to lies. You and I had some little dealings together and I feel I've the right to insist on the truth. Now, then, don't give us any more trouble--there's a good fellow! If you'd rather talk to me alone invite me into the office or behind that desk."

Louis looked round the room, which was almost empty, save for the waiters preparing the tables for supper.

"Mr. Bundercombe," he said, with a little gesture of resignation, "it is because of those dealings that I came to trouble."

Mr. Bundercombe eyed him steadily.

"Go on!" he ordered.

Louis moved closer still to the table.

"It was those banknotes, Mr. Bundercombe," he confessed. "You gave me one packet to be destroyed in the kitchen. I obeyed; but I looked at them first. Never did I see such wonderful work! Those notes--every one seemed real! Every one, as I put it into the fire, gave my heart a pang.

"And then, the other time--when you slipped them under the table to me because Mr. Cullen was about! I took them, too, to the fire. I destroyed one, two, three, four, five--one dozen--two dozen; and then I came to the last two or three, and my fingers--they went slow. I could not bear it. I thought what could be done. My wife she was not well. I could send her to Italy. I owe a little bill. The tips--they had not been good lately.

Behold! There was one ten-pound note left when all the others were destroyed. I put him in my waistcoat pocket."

"Go on!" Mr. Bundercombe said encouragingly. "No one is blaming you. Upon my word, it sounds natural enough."

Louis' voice grew a little bolder.

"For some time I hesitated how to change it. Then one day I came here to see my friend Giatron--we came together from Italy. I hand him the note. I ask him please change. He give me the change and I stay to have a drink with the head waiter, who is a friend of mine. Presently Giatron comes out. He calls me into the office. Then I begin to tremble. He looks at me and I tremble more.

"Then he knows that he have got me. Giatron's a very cruel man, Mr.

Bundercombe. He make hard terms. He made me give up my good place at Luigi's. He made me come here and be his head man. He gives me half as much as Luigi and there are no tips; besides which the place offends me every moment of the day. The service, the food, the wines--everything is cheap and bad. I take no pride in my work.

"I go to Giatron and I pray him to let me go. But not so! I know my work well. He thinks that I will bring clients. Nowhere else could he get a head man so good as I at the wages of a common waiter. So I stay here--a slave!"

The man's story was finished. In a sense it seemed ordinary enough, and yet both Eve and I felt a curious thrill of sympathy as he finished. There was something almost dramatic in the man's sad voice, his depressed bearing, the story of this tragedy that had come so suddenly into his life. One looked round and realized the truth of all he had said. One realized something, even, of the bitterness of his daily life.

Mr. Bundercombe sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

"Tell me why you did not come to me or write, Louis?" he asked.

The man stretched out his hands.

"But it was to you, sir, that I had broken my word!" he pointed out. "When you gave me that first little bundle you looked at me so steadfastly--when you told me that every sc.r.a.p was to be destroyed; and I promised--I promised you faithfully. And you asked me afterward about that last batch.

You said to me: 'Louis, you are sure that they are all quite gone?

Remember that there is trouble in the possession of them!' And I told you a lie!"

Mr. Bundercombe coughed and poured himself out a little more of the coffee.

"Louis," he declared, "you are a fool! You are a blithering idiot! You are a jacka.s.s! It never occurred to me before. I am the guilty one for placing such a temptation in your way. Now where's this Monsieur Giatron of yours?"

Louis looked at him wonderingly. There was a dawn of hope in his face, blended with a startled fear.

"He arrives in ten minutes," he announced. "He comes down for the supper.

He is here."

Mr. Bundercombe glanced round. A stout man, with a black mustache, had entered the room. His eyes fell at once on the little group. Mr.

Bundercombe turned round.

"So that is Monsieur Giatron?"

Louis bowed. Mr. Bundercombe beckoned the proprietor to approach.

"An old patron of Luigi's," Mr. Bundercombe explained, introducing himself--"come round to see our friend Louis, here."

"Delighted, I am very sure!" Mr. Giatron exclaimed, bowing to all of us.

"It will be a great pleasure to us to do the very best possible for any of Louis' friends."

Mr. Bundercombe rose to his feet. He pointed to the little gla.s.s-framed office at the other side of the room.

"Mr. Giatron," he said, "I have always been a great patron of Louis. You and I must have a chat. Will you not invite us into your little office and show us whether there is not something better to be found than this coffee? We will take a gla.s.s of brandy together and drink success to your restaurant."

Giatron hastened to lead the way. Eve, in response to a glance from her father, remained at the table; but I followed Mr. Bundercombe. We went into the office; Giatron himself placed three gla.s.ses upon the desk and produced from a cupboard a bottle of what appeared to be very superior brandy. Mr. Bundercombe sipped his with relish. Then he glanced at the closed door.

"Mr. Giatron," he began, "I have been having a chat with Louis. He has told me of his troubles--told me the reason for his leaving Luigi and accepting this post with you."

Giatron paused, with the bottle suspended in mid-air. He slowly set it down. A frown appeared on his face.

"Mind you," Mr. Bundercombe continued, "I am not sympathizing with Louis.

If what he said is true I am inclined to think you have been very merciful."

Giatron recovered his confidence.

"He tried--Louis tried--my old friend," he complained, "to take advantage of me; to enrich himself at my expense by means of a false note."

"That is the only point," Mr. Bundercombe said.

"Was the note bad? Do you know I can scarcely bring myself to believe it!"

The restaurant keeper smiled. Very deliberately he produced a great bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the safe, which stood in a corner of the office. Mr. Bundercombe whispered a scarcely audible word in my ear and became absorbed once more in the brandy. Presently Giatron returned.

He laid on the desk and smoothed out carefully what was to all appearances a ten-pound note.

"If you will examine that carefully, sir," he begged, "you will see that it is the truth. That note, he is very well made; but he is not a good Bank of England note."

Mr. Bundercombe slowly adjusted his gla.s.ses, placed the note in front of him and smoothed it carefully with his large hand. "This is very interesting," he murmured. "Allow me to make a close examination. I've seen some high-cla.s.s printing in my----"

Giatron started as though he were shot and jumped round toward me. With unpardonable clumsiness I had upset my gla.s.s in leaning over to look at the note.

"I'm awfully sorry!" I exclaimed, glancing ruefully at my trousers. "Would you give me a napkin quickly?"

Giatron hastened to the door of the office and called to a pa.s.sing waiter.

The napkin was soon procured and I rubbed myself dry. The restaurant keeper returned to the desk at Mr. Bundercombe's side.