“I am also taking advice on the security aspect from an acquaintance at Scotland Yard, a Superintendent Alleyn.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Yes. The matter of insurance is somewhat involved, the commercial worth of the objects being impossible to define. I am informed that as soon as their existence is made known there is likely to be an unprecedented response. Particularly from the United States of America.”
There followed a short silence.
“Mr. Conducis,” Peregrine said, “I can’t help asking you this. I know it’s no business of mine but I really can’t help it. Are you—have you—I mean, would you feel at all concerned about whether the letters and glove stay in the country of their owner or not?”
“In my country?” Mr. Conducis asked as if he wasn’t sure that he had one.
“I’m sorry, no. I meant the original owner.”
Peregrine hesitated for a moment and then found himself embarked upon an excitable plea for the retention of the documents and glove. He felt he was making no impression whatever and wished he could stop. There was some indefinable and faintly disgusting taint in the situation.
With a closed face Mr. Conducis waited for Peregrine to stop and then said: “That is a sentimental approach to what is at this juncture a matter for financial consideration. I cannot speak under any other heading: historical, romantic, nationalistic or sentimental. I know,” Mr. Conducis predictably added, “nothing of such matters.”
He then startled Peregrine quite shockingly by saying with an indefinable change in his voice: “I dislike pale gloves. Intensely.”
Far one moment Peregrine thought he saw something like anguish in this extraordinary man’s face and at the next that he had been mad to suppose anything of the sort. Mr. Conducis made a slight movement indicating the interview was at an end. Peregrine opened the door, changed his mind and shut it again.
“Sir,” he said. “One other question. May I tell the company about the letters and glove? The gloves that we use on the stage will be made by the designer, Jeremy Jones—who is an expert in such matters. If we are to show the original in the front-of-house he should copy it as accurately as possible. He should go to the museum and examine it. And he will be so very much excited by the whole thing that I can’t guarantee his keeping quiet about it. In any case, sir, I myself spoke to him about the glove on the day you showed it to me. You will remember you did not impose secrecy at that time. Since the report came through I have not spoken of it to anyone except Meyer and Jones.”
Mr. Conducis said, “A certain amount of leakage at this stage is probably inevitable and if correctly handled may do no harm. You may inform your company of all the circumstances. With a strong warning that the information is, for the time being, confidential and with this proviso: I wish to remain completely untroubled by the entire business. I realize that my ownership may well become known—is known in fact, already, to a certain number of people. This is unavoidable. But under no circumstances will I give statements, submit to interviews or be quoted. My staff will see to this at my end. I hope you will observe the same care, here. Mr. Boome will be instructed. Good morning. Will you—?”
He made that slight gesture for Peregrine to precede him. Peregrine did so.
He went out on the circle landing and ran straight into Harry Grove.
“Hall-lo, dear boy,” said Harry, beaming at him. “I just darted back to use the telephone. Destiny and I—” He stopped short, bobbed playfully round Peregrine at Mr. Conducis and said: “Now, see what I’ve done! A genius for getting myself in wrong. My only talent.”
Mr. Conducis said: “Good morning to you, Grove.” He stood in the doorway looking straight in front of him.
“And to you, wonderful fairy godfather, patron, guiding light and all those things,” Harry said. “Have you come to see your latest offspring, your very own performing Dolphins?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Conducis.
“Look at dear Perry!” Harry said. “He’s stricken dumb at my misplaced familiarity. Aren’t you, Perry?”
“Not for the first time,” Peregrine said and felt himself to be the victim of a situation he should have controlled.
“Well!” Harry said, glancing with evident amusement from one to the other of his hearers. “I mustn’t double-blot my copybook, must I? Nor must I keep lovely ladies waiting.” He turned to Mr. Conducis with an air of rueful deference. “I do hope you’ll be pleased with us, sir,” he said. “It must be wonderful to be the sort of man who uses his power to rescue a drowning theatre instead of slapping it under. All the more wonderful since you have no personal interest in our disreputable trade, have you?”
“I have little or no knowledge of it.”
“No. Like vinegar, it doesn’t readily mix with Oil,” Harry said. “Or is it Shipping? I always forget. Doing any yachting lately? But I mustn’t go on being a nuisance. Goodbye, sir. Do remember me to Mrs. G. See you later, Perry, dear boy.”
He ran downstairs and out by the main door.
Mr. Conducis said: “I am late. Shall we—?” They went downstairs and crossed the foyer to the portico. There was the Daimler and, at its door, Peregrine’s friend the chauffeur. It gave him quite a shock to see them again and he wondered for a dotty moment if he would be haled away once more to Drury Place.
“Good morning,” Mr. Conducis said again. He was driven away and Peregrine joined Jeremy Jones at their habitual chop-house on the Surrey Side.
He told the company and Jeremy Jones about the glove before afternoon rehearsal. They all made interested noises. Destiny Meade became very excited and confused on learning that the glove was “historic” and persisted in thinking they would use it as a prop in the production. Marcus Knight was clearly too angry to pay more than token attention. He had seen Destiny return, five minutes late and in hilarious company with W. Hartly Grove. Gertrude Bracey was equally disgruntled by the same phenomenon.
When Harry Grove heard about the glove he professed the greatest interest and explained, in his skittish manner, “Someone ought to tell Mrs. Constantia Guzmann about this.”
“Who in earth,” Peregrine had asked, “is Mrs. Constantia Guzmann?”
“Inquire of the King Dolphin,” Harry rejoined. He insisted on referring to Marcus Knight in these terms, to the latter’s evident annoyance. Peregrine saw Knight turn crimson to the roots of his hair and thought it better to ignore Harry.
The two members of the company who were wholeheartedly moved by Peregrine’s announcement were Emily Dunne and Charles Random and their reaction was entirely satisfactory. Random kept saying: “Not true! Well, of course. Now, we know what inspired you. No—It’s incredible. It’s too much.”
He was agreeably incoherent.
Emily’s cheeks were pink and her eyes bright, and that, too, was eminently satisfactory.
Winter Meyer, who was invited to the meeting, was in ecstasy.
“So what have we got?” he asked at large. “We have got a story to make the front pages wish they were double elephants.”
Master Trevor Vere was not present at this rehearsal.
Peregrine promised Jeremy that he would arrange for him to see the glove as often as he wanted to, at the museum. Meyer was to get in touch with Mr. Greenslade about safe-housing it in the theatre and the actors were warned about secrecy for the time being, although the undercover thought had clearly been that a little leakage might be far from undesirable as long as Mr. Conducis was not troubled by it.
Stimulated perhaps by the news of the glove, the company worked well that afternoon. Peregrine began to block the tricky second act and became excited about the way Marcus Knight approached his part.