Despite the autumnal weather, Griselda enjoyed looking on from the sanctuary of the cab. Indeed she found many of the conditions perfect for witnessing a spectacle of the kind. It was almost cosy. Lotus, however, had begun to pant slightly, filling the enclosed space with delicate vapour filtered by her veil. Quickly, as Colonel Costa-Rica was saluting, she lowered the window of the cab and, putting out half her body, ecstatically waved her handkerchief, executed for her by Worth’s South African branch. The draught in the cab was really appalling; and Griselda, moreover, was reduced to looking out through the unsatisfactory little panel at the rear.
The cab being, like most of its kind, old and almost in pieces, the sudden frenzied lowering of one of its windows was audible above ‘Sheep may safely graze’ and the fury of the President. The distinguished visitor still stood with his back to the saluting Colonel, so that Kynaston, waiting to be presented, permitted his attention to be drawn by the obstrusive clatter. Through her tiny window Griselda saw him go very white and drop his silk hat.
Lotus uttered a cooing cry of reunion. The President, his round Irish face black with passion, had begun to wave both arms above his head and to jump up and down on the pavement. Then there was a shot. The Military Attachй, secure in his diplomatic immunity, was effecting a coup d’йtat.
Griselda saw the President jump higher than ever. Clearly as yet he was little, if any, the worse. Kynaston was stooping for his hat, which had rolled down the red carpet. Then there was a second shot and Kynaston disappeared. By this time one of the common constables, who a second before had seemed to be standing a long way off, had covered the ground and, disregarding international law, thrown his arms round the Attachй’s middle. Colonel Costa-Rica, supposing all to be over with the Father of his People, continued at the salute. Then, looking much mortified, he lowered his arm as unobtrusively as possible. The President was intact, though in a worse mood than ever.
*
History, or such of it as was under proper direction, related that a young foreigner privileged to work at the shrine of the Liberator, had had the honour of offering his life to save the life of President Cassido. Even a gringo, indicated history, was thus exalted after only a single meeting with the Liberator’s great successor.
Occasionally Griselda wondered, not without remorse and self-questioning, whether Kynaston had not preferred death to Lotus; but on the whole she was convinced that his end had been sadly but entirely accidental.
To Colonel Costa-Rica it is to be feared that the incident presented itself mainly in the light of another contest with an obstructive charwoman upon the subject of once more cleaning up that unlucky carpet.
Part Three
XXXIV
One day between Christmas and Near Year Griselda and Lena were dusting some of the stock. The shop had just opened. They worked along the upper shelves taking out the books one at a time, dusting their top edges, and replacing them. Every now and then there was a long pause while one or other of them investigated a volume entirely new to her.
The door opened and a tall man entered in a Gibus hat and a black cloak covered with snow.
‘Good morning.’ said Griselda from the top of her ladder. She had just been dipping into Pears’ Cyclopedia.
‘Please don’t come down,’ said the visitor. ‘I’ll look round, if I may.’ He removed his hat. He had curling black hair, parted down the middle.
‘Certainly,’ said Griselda. ‘Won’t you take off your cloak?’
‘Thank you.’ He looked up at her. He was very pale; with large but well-shaped bones, and black eyes.
‘There’s a stand in the corner. Under the bust of Menander.’
‘I didn’t know there was a bust of Menander.’
‘It’s conjectural.’
‘Like so much else.’
Griselda thought he almost smiled.
He removed his cloak. He was wearing evening dress with a white waistcoat; and across his breast ran the bright silk ribbon of a foreign order.
He hung up his coat and hat, and began to examine the books. He went along the shelves steadily and methodically, noting every title and frequently extracting a book for similarly exact scrutiny of its contents. Some of the books he bore away to Griselda’s desk, where he had soon built a substantial cairn. Griselda and Lena descended alternately to serve other customers. Many of them seemed surprised by the distinction of the stranger’s appearance.
Before his circuit of the shop was three-quarters completed, he came to rest by the desk. ‘Alas, I must go. You see: I am awaited.’ He extended his hand towards the wintry morning outside the shop window. The snow clouds were so heavy that it hardly seemed day; but as Griselda followed his gesture, she saw that the dim and dirty light was further diminished by some large obstruction.
‘I’ll make out a bill and then pack up the books in parcels.’
‘Please don’t trouble. My coachman and footman will load them into the carriage.’
He went to the door and spoke briefly to someone outside.
A man of about thirty, with very long side whiskers, entered, and began to bear away armfuls of books. He wore a beaver hat, a long dark green topcoat with a cape, and high boots. Clearly he had been sitting on his box in the snow while his master shopped.
‘Don’t take them before Miss de Reptonville has accounted for them.’
Griselda put some shillings in the pounds column and Lena slightly damaged the dust-jacket of The Light of Asia; but both took care to display no surprise.
‘Ask Staggers to help you, if you wish.’
‘No necessity, sir. One more trip and I’ll finish. Staggers needs to hold the umbrella between the door and the carriage.’
‘Of course. Most proper.’
Griselda, being unproficient at arithmetic, could only hope that the grand total could be substantiated. It was certainly the grandest total since she had entered the shop.
The customer produced an unusually large cheque book from a pocket inside his cloak and wrote out the cheque in black ink. Griselda saw that the cheque, which was on a small private Bank previously unknown to her, bore the drawer’s coat of arms and crest. One glance at this last and she had no need to look at the signature.
The customer was regarding her. ‘I received your Christmas Card. Thank you.’
‘I was grateful for your letter.’
‘Nothing would have pleased me more than to have been able to help you’ He spoke with much sincerity.
An invisible hand lightly squeezed at Griselda’s throat.
‘I must give you a receipt.’
She was unable even to stick on the stamp symmetrically.
‘Please introduce me to your friend.’
‘Of course. Please forgive me. Both of you. Lena Drelincourt. Sir Hugo Raunds.’
Lena descended. She looked a little startled. Their visitor removed a white kid glove, more than slightly discoloured with his recent work, and put out an elegant and well kept hand.