"Thanks," said Edward Henry. They were shaking hands. "I say," Edward Henry went on, "there's one thing I want to ask you. Why _did_ you promise to back Rose Euclid and her friends? You must surely have known--" He threw up his hands.

Mr. Sachs answered:

"I'll be frank with you. It was her cousin that persuaded me into it--Elsie April."

"Elsie April? Who's she?"

"Oh! You must have seen them about together--her and Rose Euclid.

They're nearly always together."

"I saw her in the restaurant here to-day with a rather jolly girl--blue hat."

"That's the one. As soon as you've made her acquaintance you'll understand what I mean," said Mr. Seven Sachs.

"Ah! But I'm not a bachelor like you," Edward Henry smiled archly.

"Well, you'll see when you meet her," said Mr. Sachs. Upon which enigmatic warning he departed, and was lost in the immense glittering nocturnal silence of Wilkins's.

Edward Henry sat down to write to Slossons by the three A.M. post. But as he wrote he kept saying to himself: "So Elsie April's her name, is it? And she actually persuaded Sachs--Sachs--to make a fool of himself!"

CHAPTER VI

LORD WOLDO AND LADY WOLDO

II.

The next morning Joseph, having opened wide the window, informed his master that the weather was bright and sunny, and Edward Henry arose with just that pleasant degree of fatigue which persuades one that one is, if anything, rather more highly vitalised than usual. He sent for Mr. Bryany, as for a domestic animal, and Mr. Bryany, ceremoniously attired, was received by a sort of jolly king who happened to be tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his beard in the royal bathroom, but who was too good-natured to keep Mr. Bryany waiting. It is remarkable how the habit of royalty, having once taken root, will flourish in the minds of quite unmonarchical persons. Edward Henry first enquired after the health of Mr. Seven Sachs, and then obtained from Mr. Bryany all remaining papers and trifles of information concerning the affair of the option.

Whereupon Mr. Bryany, apparently much elated by the honour of an informal reception, effusively retired. And Edward Henry too was so elated, and his faith in life so renewed and invigorated that he said to himself:

"It might be worth while to shave my beard off after all!"

As in his electric brougham he drove along muddy and shining Piccadilly, he admitted that Joseph's account of the weather had been very accurate.

The weather was magnificent; it presented the best features of summer combined with the salutary pungency of autumn. And flags were flying over the establishments of tobacconists, soothsayers, and insurance companies in Piccadilly. And the sense of empire was in the very air, like an intoxication. And there was no place like London. When, however, having run through Piccadilly into streets less superb, he reached the Majestic, it seemed to him that the Majestic was not a part of London, but a bit of the provinces surrounded by London. He was very disappointed with the Majestic, and took his letters from the clerk with careless condescension. In a few days the Majestic had sunk from being one of "London's huge caravanserais" to the level of a swollen Turk's Head. So fragile are reputations!

From the Majestic, Edward Henry drove back into the regions of Empire, between Piccadilly and Regent Street, and deigned to call upon his tailors. A morning suit which he had commanded being miraculously finished, he put it on, and was at once not only spectacularly but morally regenerated. The old suit, though it had cost five guineas in its time, looked a paltry and a dowdy thing as it lay, flung down anyhow, on one of Messrs. Quayther and Cuthering's cane chairs in the mirrored cubicle where baronets and even peers showed their braces to the benign Mr. Cuthering.

"I want to go to Piccadilly Circus now. Stop at the fountain," said Edward Henry to his chauffeur. He gave the order somewhat defiantly, because he was a little self-conscious in the new and gleaming suit, and because he had an absurd idea that the chauffeur might guess that he, a provincial from the Five Towns, was about to venture into West End theatrical enterprise, and sneer at him accordingly.

But the chauffeur merely touched his cap with an indifferent lofty gesture, as if to say:

"Be at ease. I have driven more persons more moonstruck even than you.

Human eccentricity has long since ceased to surprise me."

The fountain in Piccadilly Circus was the gayest thing in London. It mingled the fresh tingling of water with the odour and flame of autumn blossoms and the variegated colours of shawled women who pa.s.sed their lives on its margin engaged in the commerce of flowers. Edward Henry bought an aster from a fine, bold, red-cheeked, blowsy, dirty wench with a baby in her arms, and left some change for the baby. He was in a very tolerant and charitable mood, and could excuse the sins and the stupidity of all mankind. He reflected forgivingly that Rose Euclid and her friends had perhaps not displayed an abnormal fatuity in discussing the name of the theatre before they had got the lease of the site for it. Had not he himself bought all the option without having even seen the site? The fact was that he had had no leisure in his short royal career for such details as seeing the site. He was now about to make good the omission.

It is a fact that as he turned northward from Piccadilly Circus, to the right of the County Fire Office, in order to spy out the land upon which his theatre was to be built, he hesitated, under the delusion that all the pa.s.sers-by were staring at him! He felt just as he might have felt had he been engaged upon some scheme nefarious. He even went back and pretended to examine the windows of the County Fire Office. Then, glancing self-consciously about, he discerned--not unnaturally--the words "Regent Street" on a sign.

"There you are!" he murmured with a thrill. "There you are! There's obviously only one name for that theatre--'The Regent.' It's close to Regent Street. No other theatre is called 'The Regent.' n.o.body before ever had the idea of 'Regent' as a name for a theatre. 'Muses' indeed!

... 'Intellectual!' ... 'The Regent Theatre!' How well it comes off the tongue! It's a great name! It'll be the finest name of any theatre in London! And it took yours truly to think of it!"

Then he smiled privately at his own weakness.... He too, like the despised Rose, was baptising the unborn! Still, he continued to dream of the theatre, and began to picture to himself the ideal theatre. He discovered that he had quite a number of startling ideas about theatre-construction, based on his own experience as a playgoer.

When, with new courage, he directed his feet towards the site, upon which he knew there was an old chapel known as Queen's Gla.s.shouse Chapel, whose ownership had slipped from the nerveless hand of a dying sect of dissenters, he could not find the site, and he could not see the chapel. For an instant he was perturbed by a horrid suspicion that he had been victimised by a gang of swindlers posing as celebrated persons.

Everything was possible in this world and century. None of the people who had appeared in the transaction had resembled his previous conceptions of such people! And confidence-thieves always operated in the grandest hotels! He immediately decided that if the sequel should prove him to be a simpleton and gull he would at any rate be a silent simpleton and gull. He would stoically bear the loss of two hundred pounds, and breathe no word of woe.

But then he remembered with relief that he had genuinely recognised both Rose Euclid and Seven Sachs; and also that Mr. Bryany, among other doc.u.ments, had furnished him with a photograph of the chapel and surrounding property. The chapel therefore existed. He had a plan in his pocket. He now opened this plan and tried to consult it in the middle of the street, but his agitation was such that he could not make out on it which was north and which was south. After he had been nearly prostrated by a taxicab, a policeman came up to him and said with all the friendly disdain of a London policeman addressing a provincial:

"Safer to look at that on the pavement, sir!"

Edward Henry glanced up from the plan.

"I was trying to find the Queen's Gla.s.shouse Chapel, Officer," said he.

"Have you ever heard of it?" (In Bursley, members of the town council always flattered members of the force by addressing them as "Officer"; and Edward Henry knew exactly the effective intonation.)

"It _was there_, sir," said the policeman, less disdainful, pointing to a narrow h.o.a.rding behind which could be seen the back walls of high buildings in Shaftesbury Avenue. "They've just finished pulling it down."

"Thank you," said Edward Henry quietly, with a superb and successful effort to keep as much colour in his face as if the policeman had not dealt him a dizzying blow.

He then walked towards the h.o.a.rding, but could scarcely feel the ground under his feet. From a wide aperture in the palisades a cartful of earth was emerging; it creaked and shook as it was dragged by a labouring horse over loose planks into the roadway; a whip-cracking carter hovered on its flank. Edward Henry approached the aperture and gazed within. An elegant young man stood solitary inside the h.o.a.rding and stared at a razed expanse of land in whose furthest corner some navvies were digging a hole....

The site!

But what did this sinister destructive activity mean? n.o.body was ent.i.tled to interfere with property on which he, Alderman Machin, held an unexpired option! But was it the site? He perused the plan again with more care. Yes, there could be no doubt that it was the site. His eye roved round, and he admitted the justice of the boast that an electric sign displayed at the southern front corner of the theatre would be visible from Piccadilly Circus, lower Regent Street, Shaftesbury Avenue, etc. He then observed a large noticeboard, raised on posts above the h.o.a.rdings, and read the following:

_Site of the First New Thought Church to be opened next Spring.

Subscriptions invited.

Rollo Wrissell, Senior Trustee.

Ralph Alloyd, Architect.

d.i.c.ks and Pato, Builders._

The name of Rollo Wrissell seemed familiar to him, and after a few moments' searching he recalled that Rollo Wrissell was one of the trustees and executors of the late Lord Woldo, the other being the widow, and the mother of the new Lord Woldo. In addition to the lettering, the notice-board held a graphic representation of the First New Thought Church as it would be when completed.

"Well," said Edward Henry, not perhaps unjustifiably, "this really is a bit thick! Here I've got an option on a plot of land for building a theatre, and somebody else has taken it to put up a church!"

He ventured inside the h.o.a.rding, and, addressing the elegant young man, asked:

"You got anything to do with this, Mister?"

"Well," said the young man, smiling humorously, "I'm the architect.

It's true that n.o.body ever pays any attention to an architect in these days."

"Oh! You're Mr. Alloyd?"

"I am."

Mr. Alloyd had black hair, intensely black, changeful eyes, and the expressive mouth of an actor.