Copyright Story. Tom Kennedy's Chance.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XXI, 21 May 1904, Page 4

Copyright Story. Tom Kennedy's Chance.

Mary Lovell Cameron.

By

It was at Isidor’s restaurant in the quartier Latin that Tom Kennedy told me the queer story which I now repeat, as nearly as possible in his own words. I am an unlucky beggar, if ever there was one, everything falls flat directly I come into it. If I get an order to paint a portrait my sitter dies or gets the smallpox before the likeness is sketched in, if one of my pictures sells in an exhibition the buyer goes bankrupt before he pays me. The Jews would call me a Schlemyl. I had a chance onee of making a small fortune in three months, but as usual something went wrong at the last. It was a mysterious business that, I’ve never been able to make it out. I’ll tell you the story, it happened years ago, so I don’t think I need hold my tongue any longer, and you journalist fellows are so sharp you may be able to understand what it was all about.

My chance found me out here, in this little student’s “joint.” where such of us artists as are too poor to be proud, put up with old Isidor’s sanded floor and American cloth table covers for the sake of his dinners at 1 franc 15s, and long credit at that. Dinner time was past, and the place was emptying, the fellows were off to the cafes or the theatres, or to make jovial fools of themselves at Pulliers’ or the Chat noir, but I sat on, I had not even five sous in my pocket to pay for a bock at a brasserie. That was one of the worst winters 1 ever passed, and God knows I have lived down hard ones. But for brave little Isidor I should have starved “bel et bien,” but the good fellow never seemed to remember when the end of the month came round, most of the habitues are “au mois” here. Well, here I sat, listening to the bump, bump of the swingdoors as the fellows pushed through them into the street, and aimlessly watching the monumental form of Madame Isidor enthroned behind her zine counter where she was arranging the day’s takings in little heaps, sous, francs, five franc pieces, each in a little heap to itself. Isidor had vanished into the kitchen at the back; I caught a glimpse of him through the half-open door helping the cook to wash up. A feeling of shame added to my depression. What right had I to sponge on the generosity of this kind-hearted pair? There was a pistol at my studio. T had been about to carry it to the Monte de piete that day but had kept it—in case.

.lust then I turned my head involun tarily and met the glance of a pair of piercing black eyes. I had thought that I w r as the last man in the restaurant, but it was not so. a little old man with a formidable hook nose was sitting in the far corner. He was so utterly unlike the frequenters of Isidor’s that the sight of him gave me a shock. “ A confounded moneylender looking after some poor devil.” I muttered, turning more entirely away from him. and looking out in to the street, where the silhouettes of passers-by, blurred and swelled by the steamy glass, hurried along in the yellow gaslight. But I seemed still to feel his gaze at the back of my neck. I could not sit still under it. and I jumped up and w’ent out. It was a cold, dreary November evening, a thin, half-frozen rain stung my face. I had no overcoat, and should soon be wet through, and then the cold dark studio and the pistol on the shelf. “ The devil does not trouble to buy souls nowadays, they give themselves gratis ”

Some such thought was in my mind as I came to the corner where the Boulevards St. Michael and Montparnasse intersect. Across the open space the lights of the Bal Bullier sent gloomy rays into the dark night air. and from the open door of the Cafe des Lilacs came sounds of laughter and the click of the billiard balls. On I went towards the cemetery Mdntparnasse, near which, in a dismal little “ impasse,” my studio was hidden away.

Author of “ A Rebel,’’ Etc.

All at once I felt impelled to look round, as I had done at Isidor’s. and there in the nearly deserted road, a few steps behind me, an old man in a long great coat shuffled along in the rain. *' could not distinguish his features. but something in his aspect made me think of the strange being who had gazed so persistently at me in the restaurant. I walked on but the doubt worried me. and I stood still under the next lamp, and awaited him. It was the same man. I was in no humour for trifling, and said abruptly: “ May I inquire. Monsieur, why you do me the honour of dogging my footsteps? ” Not the least disconcerted by my bluntness, the stranger replied, “ I have a communication to make to you.” “Well, out with it.” I said, impatiently. He looked round warily, two figures pressed together under an umbrella, hustled us as they hastened by. “ Our talk must be private. Will you take me where we can speak without interruption.” Mysterious and uncanny, the old fellow fitted my mood. I was too played out to be afraid of anything, and any company was better than my own thoughts. In five minutes we were in my studio, and a hastily lit lamp sent up a film of ill-smelling smoke between us as we stood facing each other; 1 remember noticing how the white limbs of a new life study showed up out. of the gloom in which the flickering light left the rest of the studio.

Laying a claw-like hand on my sleeve the stranger said slowly, still fixing me with his glittering eyes: “ Young man, do you wish to earn 100,000 francs ? ” I jumped as if he had stung me. Upon my soul I thought Satan was there before me in person —somehow Peter Gynts “He is not economical ” flashed through my mind. You won’t think much of my principles when I tell you my answer was prompt. "Of course I do.” “That’s all right.” My tempter, as I now regarded him, drew a long breath and looked curiously round the studio, its desolation impressing him agreeably? dropping his hesitating cautious man ner, he became keen, insinuating and business-like. “You are the man a bold and admir able project has been awaiting. Thos* for whom I act require three months of your time, during which you will make a journey on our business. An advance of 5000 francs will be made tex you for preliminary expenses. With it you W’ill free yourself from all ties and get an outfit for a voyage to a hot country. We give you two days for the preparations. and on Friday evening (this is Wednesday) you will meet me at the Gare St. Lazare, where further instruction* will be given to you.” “Convince me of two things: that I am not to be required to commit murder. and that the money is safe, and I’m vour man,” I answered.

“Have you ink and paper here?” inquired the tempter. I fetched what he required, and he wrote a few words which he enclosed in an envelope; then he fumlbed in his pocket, and produced a bulky pocketbook. from which he took five bank notes. He laid them carefully on the table, and I saw that each was for 1000 francs. For the life of me I could not command mv countenance, though I knew that his cunning eves were watching the effect the sight of so much money would produce on he. “I trust you.” he croaked, “there are the means for releasing you from all claims which might embarrass your movements. To-morrow morning take this letter to the address on the envelope. and your scruples and doubts will. I hope, be removed. And now good-night, we meet again on Friday at five p m.” He was gone, and I stood looking at the bank-notes, scraps of paper which meant a renewal of life and hope to me. I took up the envelpoe—it was

addressed to one of the most important Jewish banking houses in Paris. When I woke next morning. I fancied I must have had a weird dream, but there beside me lay the bank-notes and the letter, prosaic facts to reassure me.

Before the doors of the bank werw opened. I was walking up and down in front of them, and when a little later I stood in the outer office, with clerks scribbling on all sides, and customers coming and going, all seemed so commonplace and everyday that my fancies of the night before died away, and only a feeling of mystification remained. The letter was carried into an inner sanctum, and almost immediately I was conducted thither, where among luxurious sur< roundings a florid young junior partner with a big diamond shirt-stud enter tained me with remarks on the autumn handicaps, and seemed disappointed to hear that I was no sportsman. The head of the firm soon came in. looking just like the rich, respectable Jew he was. 1 had expected some confidential explanations. but nothing of the sort was forth coming. In the most matter of faet manner an agreement already drawn out was signed and witnessed, and by it I was entitled to 100.000 francs on the conclusion of my engagement, from one Aaron Rosenblum that day th remonths, another document stating thai the money was deposited in his ban’ was signed bv the banker. I know nox thing about business, but it all seemed fair and square, and I had only to 100 l round to see I was not in a place wher* a vulgar swindle would be hatched. I never enjoyed anything more in my life than I did that day and the next. After not knowing where to turn for four sous to pay for a cup of coffee, to go in and out of shops strewing money about, does a fellow good, I ean tell you, and the excitement and the spice of adventure added to the charm. I paid up Isidor and gave a dinner to a dozen fellows, and told them that a rich relation had died and left me some money, and that I was off next day to the funeral.

When my cab drove up to the Arc St. Luzare next day I found the old tempter on the steps. He took me by the arm, and said:

“I have your ticket; my man will register your luggage, and meantime I ~ave f word to say to you.” He led me out, and we walked slowly up the narrow street that flanks the station. I saw he was scanning my face nervously. My heart beat a bit quicker. T felt I was on the brink of a revelation. He began in a harsh, croaky whisper: “When you arrive at the port to which this steamer ticket franks you. a person will board the steamer asking for Brown, agent for Rosenblum, of Paris 1 . You will leave the ship with him. and he will put you in the way of fulfilling our purpose. You are to take the place of a prisoner, unjustly condemned, and whose release will be applauded by all just men. Hush! don’t speak hastily, let me explain further. The gaolers are bought, the whole plan complete, except one link. A man like enough to the prisoner to deceive the governor on his night rounds. You are that man.” There was a silence. The eye of the tempter never left me as I totted up the account. “And suppose next morning, when they discovered the mistake, they hang me on the nearest gallows?” “The danger is infinitesimal. The gaoler will let you out by the same way

he has already let out the true prisoner: you may be arrested somewhere as the real man. but you will have papers to prove that you are a harmless commercial agent travelling on business. In the meantime our man will have got the necessary twelve hours’ start, which is all he will need to get aboard a yacht cruising round awaiting him.” “And if the governor finds out the im posture?”

“He will not. He believes the prison impregnable, and merely inspects as part of his duty, just a passing glance by lamplight; believe me you are quite safe on that head. Your resemblance to the prisoner is extraordinary.” I was not the dupe of his arguments. I saw th risk I was to run clearly enough, but after all. 100 000 francs could not be gained without some drawbacks. I accepted the job. and we walked back to the Gare together.

Then came the “Schlemylade.” the breakdown, that comes to everything I have a hand in.

As we mounted the flight of steps leading to the salle d’attente a gentleman leaning against the railings saluted my guide. “Excuse me for a moment, f must speak to a friend.” I strolled on to the bookstall, and spent a few minutes laying in a stock of books and papers for the journey. VV hen the tempter joined me, his first words shattered my house of cards. “Our project is abandoned.” “How—what ”

“News has just reached us that a revision of the prisoner’s sentence will be granted. The news will not be made public for some time, but our information is sure. No attempt at evasion will now be made.” “And all my time —my trouble—my—mv—”

“We offer you our sincerest apologies, and.” here the wily, insinuating tone reappeared, and he almost embraced me in his deprecatory excuses, “we are ready to do anything we can to indemnify you for putting you to so much inconvenience. You are freed from all embarrassments, packed ready for a journey; would, now would a journey to Italy, the land of art. and sun. be any compensation to you? If so—a ticket to any Italian town and a further 5000 francs for expenses during the winter are at your disposal.” Of course, I saw that he wished to get me out of the way for a bit. but one of my dreams was to see the mosaics of Ravenna, and 1 told him so. He fell into the plan at onee. and took me to the Gare de Lyon, and saw me oft’ for Italy. As you may imagine, the 5000 francs lasted me longer than the winter. I wandered on down the Adriatic shore, got round to Capri, in fact I am only just back, so after all I did get something out of the business, though not what I hoped. "Has it never occurred to you to try to get to the bottom of the mystery?” “Not much. I did call round at the bank, when I got back, and asked to see that junior partner just out of curiosity. But. you never saw anybody so politely forgetful—he really remembered nothing whatever about the business — but then they were engaged in so many important affairs. And he bowed me out, feeling a perfect fool for having gone there at all.”