Ruggles of Red Gap | Page 4

in an hotel among the most
expensive situated near what would have been our Trafalgar Square,
and I later recalled that I had been most interestedly studied by the
so-called "Mrs. Effie" on each of the few occasions I appeared there. I
mean to say, she would not be above putting to me intimate questions
concerning my term of service with the Honourable George Augustus
Vane-Basingwell, the precise nature of the duties I performed for him,
and even the exact sum of my honourarium. On the last occasion she
had remarked--and too well I recall a strange glitter in her competent
eyes--"You are just the man needed by poor Cousin Egbert there--you
could make something of him. Look at the way he's tied that cravat
after all I've said to him."
The person referred to here shivered noticeably, stroked his chin in a
manner enabling him to conceal the cravat, and affected nervously to

be taken with a sight in the street below. In some embarrassment I
withdrew, conscious of a cold, speculative scrutiny bent upon me by
the woman.
If I have seemed tedious in my recital of the known facts concerning
these extraordinary North American natives, it will, I am sure, be
forgiven me in the light of those tragic developments about to ensue.
Meantime, let me be pictured as reposing in fancied security from all
evil predictions while I awaited the return of the Honourable George. I
was only too certain he would come suffering from an acute acid
dyspepsia, for I had seen lobster in his shifty eyes as he left me; but
beyond this I apprehended nothing poignant, and I gave myself up to
meditating profoundly upon our situation.
Frankly, it was not good. I had done my best to cheer the Honourable
George, but since our brief sojourn at Ostend, and despite the almost
continuous hospitality of the Americans, he had been having, to put it
bluntly, an awful hump. At Ostend, despite my remonstrance, he had
staked and lost the major portion of his quarter's allowance in testing a
system at the wheel which had been warranted by the person who sold
it to him in London to break any bank in a day's play. He had meant to
pause but briefly at Ostend, for little more than a test of the system,
then proceed to Monte Carlo, where his proposed terrific winnings
would occasion less alarm to the managers. Yet at Ostend the system
developed such grave faults in the first hour of play that we were forced
to lay up in Paris to economize.
For myself I had entertained doubts of the system from the moment of
its purchase, for it seemed awfully certain to me that the vendor would
have used it himself instead of parting with it for a couple of quid, he
being in plain need of fresh linen and smarter boots, to say nothing of
the quite impossible lounge-suit he wore the night we met him in a cab
shelter near Covent Garden. But the Honourable George had not
listened to me. He insisted the chap had made it all enormously clear;
that those mathematical Johnnies never valued money for its own sake,
and that we should presently be as right as two sparrows in a crate.

Fearfully annoyed I was at the dénouement. For now we were in Paris,
rather meanly lodged in a dingy hotel on a narrow street leading from
what with us might have been Piccadilly Circus. Our rooms were rather
a good height with a carved cornice and plaster enrichments, but the
furnishings were musty and the general air depressing, notwithstanding
the effect of a few good mantel ornaments which I have long made it a
rule to carry with me.
Then had come the meeting with the Americans. Glad I was to reflect
that this had occurred in Paris instead of London. That sort of thing gets
about so. Even from Paris I was not a little fearful that news of his
mixing with this raffish set might get to the ears of his lordship either at
the town house or at Chaynes-Wotten. True, his lordship is not
over-liberal with his brother, but that is small reason for affronting the
pride of a family that attained its earldom in the fourteenth century.
Indeed the family had become important quite long before this time, the
first Vane-Basingwell having been beheaded by no less a personage
than William the Conqueror, as I learned in one of the many hours I
have been privileged to browse in the Chaynes-Wotten library.
It need hardly be said that in my long term of service with the
Honourable George, beginning almost from the time my mother nursed
him, I have endeavoured to keep him up to his class, combating