Books: The Doings Of Raffles Haw
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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle >> The Doings Of Raffles Haw
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"Good-morning, Mr. Spurling."
"Ah, good-morning, Robert. How are you? Are you coming my way?
How slippery the roads are!"
His round, kindly face was beaming with good nature, and he took little
jumps as he walked, like a man who can hardly contain himself for
pleasure.
"Have you heard from Hector?"
"Oh, yes. He went off all right last Wednesday from Spithead, and he
will write from Madeira. But you generally have later news at Elmdene
than I have."
"I don't know whether Laura has heard. Have you been up to see the
new comer?"
"Yes; I have just left him."
"Is he a married man--this Mr. Raffles Haw?"
"No, he is a bachelor. He does not seem to have any relations either,
as far as I could learn. He lives alone, amid his huge staff of
servants. It is a most remarkable establishment. It made me think of
the Arabian Nights."
"And the man? What is he like?"
"He is an angel--a positive angel. I never heard or read of such
kindness in my life. He has made me a happy man."
The clergyman's eyes sparkled with emotion, and he blew his nose loudly
in his big red handkerchief.
Robert McIntyre looked at him in surprise.
"I am delighted to hear it," he said. "May I ask what he has done?"
"I went up to him by appointment this morning. I had written asking
him if I might call. I spoke to him of the parish and its needs, of my
long struggle to restore the south side of the church, and of our
efforts to help my poor parishioners during this hard weather.
While I spoke he said not a word, but sat with a vacant face, as though
he were not listening to me. When I had finished he took up his pen.
'How much will it take to do the church?' he asked. 'A thousand
pounds,' I answered; 'but we have already raised three hundred among
ourselves. The Squire has very handsomely given fifty pounds.' 'Well,'
said he, 'how about the poor folk? How many families are there?'
'About three hundred,' I answered. 'And coals, I believe, are at about
a pound a ton', said he. 'Three tons ought to see them through the rest
of the winter. Then you can get a very fair pair of blankets for
two pounds. That would make five pounds per family, and seven hundred
for the church.' He dipped his pen in the ink, and, as I am a living
man, Robert, he wrote me a cheque then and there for two thousand two
hundred pounds. I don't know what I said; I felt like a fool; I could
not stammer out words with which to thank him. All my troubles have
been taken from my shoulders in an instant, and indeed, Robert, I can
hardly realise it."
"He must be a most charitable man."
"Extraordinarily so. And so unpretending. One would think that it was
I who was doing the favour and he who was the beggar. I thought of that
passage about making the heart of the widow sing for joy. He made my
heart sing for joy, I can tell you. Are you coming up to the Vicarage?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Spurling. I must go home and get to work on my new
picture. It's a five-foot canvas--the landing of the Romans in Kent.
I must have another try for the Academy. Good-morning."
He raised his hat and continued down the road, while the vicar turned
off into the path which led to his home.
Robert McIntyre had converted a large bare room in the upper storey of
Elmdene into a studio, and thither he retreated after lunch. It was as
well that he should have some little den of his own, for his father
would talk of little save of his ledgers and accounts, while Laura had
become peevish and querulous since the one tie which held her to
Tamfield had been removed. The chamber was a bare and bleak one,
un-papered and un-carpeted, but a good fire sparkled in the grate, and
two large windows gave him the needful light. His easel stood in
the centre, with the great canvas balanced across it, while against the
walls there leaned his two last attempts, "The Murder of Thomas of
Canterbury" and "The Signing of Magna Charta." Robert had a weakness
for large subjects and broad effects. If his ambition was greater than
his skill, he had still all the love of his art and the patience under
discouragement which are the stuff out of which successful painters are
made. Twice his brace of pictures had journeyed to town, and twice
they had come back to him, until the finely gilded frames which had made
such a call upon his purse began to show signs of these varied
adventures. Yet, in spite of their depressing company, Robert turned
to his fresh work with all the enthusiasm which a conviction of ultimate
success can inspire.
But he could not work that afternoon.
In vain he dashed in his background and outlined the long curves of the
Roman galleys. Do what he would, his mind would still wander from his
work to dwell upon his conversation with the vicar in the morning. His
imagination was fascinated by the idea of this strange man living alone
amid a crowd, and yet wielding such a power that with one dash of
his pen he could change sorrow into joy, and transform the condition of
a whole parish. The incident of the fifty-pound note came back to his
mind. It must surely have been Raffles Haw with whom Hector Spurling
had come in contact. There could not be two men in one parish to whom
so large a sum was of so small an account as to be thrown to a
bystander in return for a trifling piece of assistance. Of course, it
must have been Raffles Haw. And his sister had the note, with
instructions to return it to the owner, could he be found. He threw
aside his palette, and descending into the sitting-room he told Laura
and his father of his morning's interview with the vicar, and of his
conviction that this was the man of whom Hector was in quest.
"Tut! Tut!" said old McIntyre. "How is this, Laura? I knew nothing of
this. What do women know of money or of business? Hand the note over
to me and I shall relieve you of all responsibility. I will take
everything upon myself."
"I cannot possibly, papa," said Laura, with decision. "I should not
think of parting with it."
"What is the world coming to?" cried the old man, with his thin hands
held up in protest. "You grow more undutiful every day, Laura. This
money would be of use to me--of use, you understand. It may be the
corner-stone of the vast business which I shall re-construct. I will
use it, Laura, and I will pay something--four, shall we say, or even
four and a-half--and you may have it back on any day. And I will give
security--the security of my--well, of my word of honour."
"It is quite impossible, papa," his daughter answered coldly. "It is
not my money. Hector asked me to be his banker. Those were his very
words. It is not in my power to lend it. As to what you say, Robert,
you may be right or you may be wrong, but I certainly shall not give Mr.
Raffles Haw or anyone else the money without Hector's express command."
"You are very right about not giving it to Mr. Raffles Haw," cried old
McIntyre, with many nods of approbation. "I should certainly not let it
go out of the family."
"Well, I thought that I would tell you."
Robert picked up his Tam-o'-Shanter and strolled out to avoid the
discussion between his father and sister, which he saw was about to be
renewed. His artistic nature revolted at these petty and sordid
disputes, and he turned to the crisp air and the broad landscape to
soothe his ruffled feelings. Avarice had no place among his failings,
and his father's perpetual chatter about money inspired him with a
positive loathing and disgust for the subject.
Robert was lounging slowly along his favourite walk which curled over
the hill, with his mind turning from the Roman invasion to the
mysterious millionaire, when his eyes fell upon a tall, lean man
in front of him, who, with a pipe between his lips, was endeavouring to
light a match under cover of his cap. The man was clad in a rough
pea-jacket, and bore traces of smoke and grime upon his face and hands.
Yet there is a Freemasonry among smokers which overrides every social
difference, so Robert stopped and held out his case of fusees.
"A light?" said he.
"Thank you." The man picked out a fusee, struck it, and bent his head
to it. He had a pale, thin face, a short straggling beard, and a very
sharp and curving nose, with decision and character in the straight
thick eyebrows which almost met on either side of it. Clearly a
superior kind of workman, and possibly one of those who had been
employed in the construction of the new house. Here was a chance of
getting some first-hand information on the question which had aroused
his curiosity. Robert waited until he had lit his pipe, and then walked
on beside him.
"Are you going in the direction of the new Hall?" he asked.
"Yes."
The man's voice was cold, and his manner reserved.
"Perhaps you were engaged in the building of it?"
"Yes, I had a hand in it."
"They say that it is a wonderful place inside. It has been quite the
talk of the district. Is it as rich as they say?"
"I am sure I don't know. I have not heard what they say."
His attitude was certainly not encouraging, and it seemed to Robert that
he gave little sidelong suspicious glances at him out of his keen grey
eyes. Yet, if he were so careful and discreet there was the more reason
to think that there was information to be extracted, if he could but
find a way to it.
"Ah, there it lies!" he remarked, as they topped the brow of the hill,
and looked down once more at the great building. "Well, no doubt it is
very gorgeous and splendid, but really for my own part I would rather
live in my own little box down yonder in the village."
The workman puffed gravely at his pipe.
"You are no great admirer of wealth, then?" he said.
"Not I. I should not care to be a penny richer than I am. Of course I
should like to sell my pictures. One must make a living. But beyond
that I ask nothing. I dare say that I, a poor artist, or you, a man who
work for your bread, have more happiness out of life than the owner of
that great palace,"
"Indeed, I think that it is more than likely," the other answered, in a
much more conciliatory voice.
"Art," said Robert, warming to the subject, "is her own reward. What
mere bodily indulgence is there which money could buy which can give
that deep thrill of satisfaction which comes on the man who has
conceived something new, something beautiful, and the daily delight as
he sees it grow under his hand, until it stands before him a completed
whole? With my art and without wealth I am happy. Without my art I
should have a void which no money could fill. But I really don't know
why I should say all this to you."
The workman had stopped, and was staring at him earnestly with a look of
the deepest interest upon his smoke-darkened features.
"I am very glad to hear what you say," said he. "It is a pleasure to
know that the worship of gold is not quite universal, and that there are
at least some who can rise above it. Would you mind my shaking you by
the hand?"
It was a somewhat extraordinary request, but Robert rather prided
himself upon his Bohemianism, and upon his happy facility for making
friends with all sorts and conditions of men. He readily exchanged a
cordial grip with his chance acquaintance.
"You expressed some curiosity as to this house. I know the grounds
pretty well, and might perhaps show you one or two little things which
would interest you. Here are the gates. Will you come in with me?"
Here was, indeed, a chance. Robert eagerly assented, and walked up the
winding drive amid the growing fir-trees. When he found his uncouth
guide, however, marching straight across the broad, gravel square to the
main entrance, he felt that he had placed himself in a false position.
"Surely not through the front door," he whispered, plucking his
companion by the sleeve. "Perhaps Mr. Raffles Haw might not like it."
"I don't think there will be any difficulty," said the other, with a
quiet smile. "My name is Raffles Haw."
CHAPTER III.
A HOUSE OF WONDERS.
Robert McIntyre's face must have expressed the utter astonishment which
filled his mind at this most unlooked-for announcement. For a moment he
thought that his companion must be joking, but the ease and assurance
with which he lounged up the steps, and the deep respect with which a
richly-clad functionary in the hall swung open the door to admit him,
showed that he spoke in sober earnest. Raffles Haw glanced back, and
seeing the look of absolute amazement upon the young artist's features,
he chuckled quietly to himself.
"You will forgive me, won't you, for not disclosing my identity?" he
said, laying his hand with a friendly gesture upon the other's sleeve.
"Had you known me you would have spoken less freely, and I should not
have had the opportunity of learning your true worth. For example,
you might hardly have been so frank upon the matter of wealth had you
known that you were speaking to the master of the Hall."
"I don't think that I was ever so astonished in my life," gasped Robert.
"Naturally you are. How could you take me for anything but a workman?
So I am. Chemistry is one of my hobbies, and I spend hours a day in my
laboratory yonder. I have only just struck work, and as I had inhaled
some not-over-pleasant gases, I thought that a turn down the road and a
whiff of tobacco might do me good. That was how I came to meet you, and
my toilet, I fear, corresponded only too well with my smoke-grimed face.
But I rather fancy I know you by repute. Your name is Robert McIntyre,
is it not?"
"Yes, though I cannot imagine how you knew."
"Well, I naturally took some little trouble to learn something of my
neighbours. I had heard that there was an artist of that name, and I
presume that artists are not very numerous in Tamfield. But how do you
like the design? I hope it does not offend your trained taste."
"Indeed, it is wonderful--marvellous! You must yourself have an
extraordinary eye for effect."
"Oh, I have no taste at all; not the slightest. I cannot tell good from
bad. There never was such a complete Philistine. But I had the best
man in London down, and another fellow from Vienna. They fixed it up
between them."
They had been standing just within the folding doors upon a huge mat of
bison skins. In front of them lay a great square court, paved with
many-coloured marbles laid out in a labyrinth of arabesque design.
In the centre a high fountain of carved jade shot five thin feathers of
spray into the air, four of which curved towards each corner of the
court to descend into broad marble basins, while the fifth mounted
straight up to an immense height, and then tinkled back into the central
reservoir. On either side of the court a tall, graceful palm-tree shot
up its slender stem to break into a crown of drooping green leaves some
fifty feet above their heads. All round were a series of Moorish
arches, in jade and serpentine marble, with heavy curtains of the
deepest purple to cover the doors which lay between them. In front, to
right and to left, a broad staircase of marble, carpeted with rich thick
Smyrna rug work, led upwards to the upper storeys, which were arranged
around the central court. The temperature within was warm and yet
fresh, like the air of an English May.
"It's taken from the Alhambra," said Raffles Haw. "The palm-trees are
pretty. They strike right through the building into the ground beneath,
and their roots are all girt round with hot-water pipes. They seem to
thrive very well."
"What beautifully delicate brass-work!" cried Robert, looking up with
admiring eyes at the bright and infinitely fragile metal trellis screens
which adorned the spaces between the Moorish arches.
"It is rather neat. But it is not brass-work. Brass is not tough
enough to allow them to work it to that degree of fineness. It is gold.
But just come this way with me. You won't mind waiting while I remove
this smoke?"
He led the way to a door upon the left side of the court, which, to
Robert's surprise, swung slowly open as they approached it.
"That is a little improvement which I have adopted," remarked the master
of the house. "As you go up to a door your weight upon the planks
releases a spring which causes the hinges to revolve. Pray step in.
This is my own little sanctum, and furnished after my own heart."
If Robert expected to see some fresh exhibition of wealth and luxury he
was woefully disappointed, for he found himself in a large but bare
room, with a little iron truckle-bed in one corner, a few scattered
wooden chairs, a dingy carpet, and a large table heaped with books,
bottles, papers, and all the other _debris_ which collect around a busy
and untidy man. Motioning his visitor into a chair, Raffles Haw pulled
off his coat, and, turning up the sleeves of his coarse flannel
shirt, he began to plunge and scrub in the warm water which flowed from
a tap in the wall.
"You see how simple my own tastes are," he remarked, as he mopped his
dripping face and hair with the towel. "This is the only room in my
great house where I find myself in a congenial atmosphere. It is homely
to me. I can read here and smoke my pipe in peace. Anything like
luxury is abhorrent to me."
"Really, I should not have though it," observed Robert.
"It is a fact, I assure you. You see, even with your views as to the
worthlessness of wealth, views which, I am sure, are very sensible and
much to your credit, you must allow that if a man should happen to be
the possessor of vast--well, let us say of considerable--sums of money,
it is his duty to get that money into circulation, so that the community
may be the better for it. There is the secret of my fine feathers.
I have to exert all my ingenuity in order to spend my income, and yet
keep the money in legitimate channels. For example, it is very easy to
give money away, and no doubt I could dispose of my surplus, or part of
my surplus, in that fashion, but I have no wish to pauperise anyone, or
to do mischief by indiscriminate charity. I must exact some sort of
money's worth for all the money which I lay out You see my point, don't
you?"
"Entirely; though really it is something novel to hear a man complain of
the difficulty of spending his income."
"I assure you that it is a very serious difficulty with me. But I have
hit upon some plans--some very pretty plans. Will you wash your hands?
Well, then, perhaps you would care to have a look round. Just come into
this corner of the room, and sit upon this chair. So. Now I will sit
upon this one, and we are ready to start."
The angle of the chamber in which they sat was painted for about six
feet in each direction of a dark chocolate-brown, and was furnished with
two red plush seats protruding from the walls, and in striking contrast
with the simplicity of the rest of the apartment.
"This," remarked Raffles Haw, "is a lift, though it is so closely joined
to the rest of the room that without the change in colour it might
puzzle you to find the division. It is made to run either horizontally
or vertically. This line of knobs represents the various rooms.
You can see 'Dining,' 'Smoking,' 'Billiard,' 'Library' and so on, upon
them. I will show you the upward action. I press this one with
'Kitchen' upon it."
There was a sense of motion, a very slight jar, and Robert, without
moving from his seat, was conscious that the room had vanished, and that
a large arched oaken door stood in the place which it had occupied.
"That is the kitchen door," said Raffles Haw. "I have my kitchen at the
top of the house. I cannot tolerate the smell of cooking. We have come
up eighty feet in a very few seconds. Now I press again and here we are
in my room once more."
Robert McIntyre stared about him in astonishment.
"The wonders of science are greater than those of magic" he remarked.
"Yes, it is a pretty little mechanism. Now we try the horizontal.
I press the 'Dining' knob and here we are, you see. Step towards the
door, and you will find it open in front of you."
Robert did as he was bid, and found himself with his companion in a
large and lofty room, while the lift, the instant that it was freed from
their weight, flashed back to its original position. With his feet
sinking into the soft rich carpet, as though he were ankle-deep in some
mossy bank, he stared about him at the great pictures which lined the
walls.
"Surely, surely, I see Raphael's touch there" he cried, pointing up at
the one which faced him.
"Yes, it is a Raphael, and I believe one of his best. I had a very
exciting bid for it with the French Government. They wanted it for the
Louvre, but of course at an auction the longest purse must win."
"And this 'Arrest of Catiline' must be a Rubens. One cannot mistake
his splendid men and his infamous women."
"Yes, it is a Rubens. The other two are a Velasquez and a Teniers, fair
specimens of the Spanish and of the Dutch schools. I have only old
masters here. The moderns are in the billiard-room. The furniture here
is a little curious. In fact, I fancy that it is unique. It is made of
ebony and narwhals' horns. You see that the legs of everything are of
spiral ivory, both the table and the chairs. It cost the upholsterer
some little pains, for the supply of these things is a strictly limited
one. Curiously enough, the Chinese Emperor had given a large order for
narwhals' horns to repair some ancient pagoda, which was fenced in with
them, but I outbid him in the market, and his celestial highness has had
to wait. There is a lift here in the corner, but we do not need it.
Pray step through this door. This is the billiard-room," he continued
as they advanced into the adjoining room. "You see I have a few recent
pictures of merit upon the walls. Here is a Corot, two Meissoniers, a
Bouguereau, a Millais, an Orchardson, and two Alma-Tademas. It seems to
me to be a pity to hang pictures over these walls of carved oak.
Look at those birds hopping and singing in the branches. They really
seem to move and twitter, don't they?"
"They are perfect. I never saw such exquisite work. But why do you
call it a billiard-room, Mr. Haw? I do not see any board."
"Oh, a board is such a clumsy uncompromising piece of furniture. It is
always in the way unless you actually need to use it. In this case the
board is covered by that square of polished maple which you see let into
the floor. Now I put my foot upon this motor. You see!" As he spoke,
the central portion of the flooring flew up, and a most beautiful
tortoise-shell-plated billiard-table rose up to its proper position.
He pressed a second spring, and a bagatelle-table appeared in the same
fashion. "You may have card-tables or what you will by setting the
levers in motion," he remarked. "But all this is very trifling.
Perhaps we may find something in the museum which may be of more
interest to you."
He led the way into another chamber, which was furnished in antique
style, with hangings of the rarest and richest tapestry. The floor was
a mosaic of coloured marbles, scattered over with mats of costly fur.
There was little furniture, but a number of Louis Quatorze cabinets
of ebony and silver with delicately-painted plaques were ranged round
the apartment.
"It is perhaps hardly fair to dignify it by the name of a museum," said
Raffles Haw. "It consists merely of a few elegant trifles which I have
picked up here and there. Gems are my strongest point. I fancy that
there, perhaps, I might challenge comparison with any private collector
in the world. I lock them up, for even the best servants may be
tempted."
He took a silver key from his watch chain, and began to unlock and draw
out the drawers. A cry of wonder and of admiration burst from Robert
McIntyre, as his eyes rested upon case after case filled with the most
magnificent stones. The deep still red of the rubies, the clear
scintillating green of the emeralds, the hard glitter of the diamonds,
the many shifting shades of beryls, of amethysts, of onyxes, of
cats'-eyes, of opals, of agates, of cornelians seemed to fill the whole
chamber with a vague twinkling, many-coloured light. Long slabs of the
beautiful blue lapis lazuli, magnificent bloodstones, specimens of pink
and red and white coral, long strings of lustrous pearls, all these were
tossed out by their owner as a careless schoolboy might pour marbles
from his bag.
"This isn't bad," he said, holding up a great glowing yellow mass as
large as his own head. "It is really a very fine piece of amber. It was
forwarded to me by my agent at the Baltic. Twenty-eight pounds, it
weighs. I never heard of so fine a one. I have no very large
brilliants--there were no very large ones in the market--but my average
is good. Pretty toys, are they not?" He picked up a double handful of
emeralds from a drawer, and then let them trickle slowly back into
the heap.
"Good heavens!" cried Robert, as he gazed from case to case. "It is an
immense fortune in itself. Surely a hundred thousand pounds would
hardly buy so splendid a collection."
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