IV. SIGEBERT SMART.
|Before going out to his work, Hartley had a little talk in private with Walter.
Fearing he might be inconvenienced from want of money—having heard him say, at their first meeting on Westminster Bridge, that he had none—the worthy stonemason, with great consideration, volunteered to lend him five pounds, on the simple understanding that this sum was to be repaid when Walter had earned so much wages.
Thus amply provided with funds, Walter sallied forth after breakfast to make a few necessary purchases preparatory to entering upon the situation, should he obtain it—and telling Mrs Hartley what to say to Mr. Tankard, in case that obliging person should call during his absence.
His first business was to seek out a hair-dresser's shop; and, hearing there were several in the Lambeth Road, he went thither.
He had not proceeded far, when he came to an establishment that bore the name Sigebert Smart, in large gilt letters, above the window, and promised all he desired.
Entering the shop, he perceived two persons—one a showy-looking female, stationed behind a counter laden with pots of pomade, flacons of oil, brushes, sponges, and perfumery; the other, a dapper, fair-complexioned young man, with his blonde hair brushed back from his forehead.
This was Sigebert Smart in person. Having been for a year in Paris, at a large shop in the Rue St. Honoré, he considered himself perfectly versed in all the arts and mysteries of a French coiffeur, and incomparably superior to any of his rivals in the Lambeth Road.
Walter thought the hairdresser stared at him rather inquisitively as he entered the shop; but the man's manner was perfectly polite, and, on learning his customer's requirements, he begged him to step into an inner room, communicating by a glass-door with the shop.
“Pray be seated, sir!” said Sigebert, pointing to a well-stuffed arm-chair. “Shaved, I think you said, sir?”
“Shaved!” repeated Walter.
“Before taking the irreparable step,” said Sigebert, placing himself in front of his customer, and regarding him steadfastly, “let me ask if you have reflected?”
“What d'ye mean?” cried Walter, staring at him in surprise.
“Excuse me, sir,” rejoined the hairdresser, “but have you positively determined to part with that magnificent beard?”
“I don't like to lose it, I confess,” replied Walter. “But I have no choice.”
“That's hard. Never in my experience have I beheld a finer beard, nor better grown. I shall be loth to cut it.”
“You are pleased to compliment me,” said Walter.
“It is not my habit, sir, I assure you. Generally I am frank to a fault. Apropos des barbes, I will tell you a curious story. A gentleman called here last evening, and inquired whether a very tall young man, dressed in a grey tweed suit, exactly like yours, sir, and having a particularly handsome brown beard, the very ditto of yours, sir, lodged in the Lambeth Road, or hereabouts. I told him I had not remarked any such person; but you, sir, answer precisely to the description. Strange you should put in an appearance next day!”
“That's why you stared at me so hard when I entered the shop?” cried Walter.
“Couldn't help it, sir. Quite startled.”
“And now for a description of the individual who has taken the liberty to inquire about me?” said Walter.
“Tall, thin, sharp features; long, straight nose; professional-looking,” replied Sigebert.
“I know him,” said Walter. “I saw him yesterday.”
“At Lambeth Pier; he said he caught sight of you there. He appears most anxious to find you, and has been making inquiries about you in the neighbourhood.”
“Did he mention any name?”
“No; he was exceedingly reserved on that point. But I think he'll call again.”
“I've no especial desire to see him. But now to work.”
“Must I really commit this outrage?” cried Sige-bert, flourishing his scissors. “My soul revolts at the deed.”
Walter, however, insisted, and, in a very few minutes, his luxuriant beard had vanished, and his cheeks and chin were perfectly smooth.
He had just got up from the arm-chair, when the glass-door opened, and a tall man came in.
“You have found your friend at last, sir,” cried Sigebert, on beholding him. “I suppose my wife told you he was here?”
“She did,” replied the other.
Walter, however, did not seem willing to acknowledge the intruder as a friend, but drew himself up, and regarded him sternly—almost angrily.
“Perhaps I had better retire, gentlemen,” said Sigebert. “You may wish to have a little private converse.”
With this, he went out, but we rather fancy the door was left slightly ajar.
“How is it that you have presumed to follow me about in this way?” asked Walter, in an offended tone.
“You must forgive me, sir. I saw you yesterday, and have searched for you here to-day. It is my earnest desire to induce you to return to your relatives and friends. They feared something terrible had happened to you.”
“They need not trouble themselves about me,” rejoined Walter. “I shall not trouble myself about them.”
“But I have certain propositions to make to you.”
“I reject all propositions. It is useless to talk to me.”
“I have, also, a sum of money at your disposal. Will you not receive it?”
“If it comes from a particular quarter, and as an allowance, no!”
“Permit me to say, sir,” remarked the tall gentleman in a grave tone, “that you are acting very injudiciously, and are throwing away a great piece of good fortune. All can be easily put to rights if you will only allow me to do it. And there are many other advantages that might accrue to you, to which I cannot now more particularly advert.”
“I am the best judge of what concerns myself, sir.”
“I don't think so,” rejoined the other. “You seem obstinately bent upon pursuing a wrong course. Have you any debts?”
“None!”
“Any liabilities?”
“None!”
“Then why not assume your proper position? You will have every aid. I understand your objections, and though I deem them ridiculous, I shall not attempt to combat them at this moment. But there are friends willing and anxious to assist you. Amongst others,” he added, lowering his voice, “Sir Bridgnorth Charlton.”
“Sir Bridgnorth is an excellent man—one in a thousand!”
“Then you cannot distrust him?”
“I do not distrust him! On the contrary, I have entire confidence in him! He is a gentleman and a man of honour!”
“Let him have the management of your affairs.”
“Do you come from Sir Bridgnorth?”
“Sir Bridgnorth is not certain you are alive. He fears you have committed suicide. It will be a great satisfaction to him and several others to learn that you have not executed your fell purpose.”
“Suffer them to remain in ignorance. I would rather they supposed me dead. Keep this secret for me, I beg of you. It is the sole favour you can do me. I will reappear at the proper time.”
“But, meanwhile, you will make several persons very unhappy—your sister, who has the greatest affection for you, as I can testify—and Miss Barfleur.”
“Miss Barfleur!” exclaimed Walter, starting. “She has no interest in me.”
“You are mistaken,” replied the other. “Sir Leycester Barfleur having recently died, she is now a great heiress.”
“The very reason why she should not think of me.”
“Don't despair! Make your appearance!”
“I have said I will appear at the proper time—not before.”
“Won't you give me any idea of your projects?”
“No.”
“Do you want money? I am ready to advance it to you.”
“I want none.”
“Then our interview is at an end.”
“Once more, I must ask you not to mention that you have seen me.”
“I cannot consent to keep those persons who are attached to you in doubt—nor ought you to ask it. If, for reasons of your own, you choose to live in concealment and under a feigned name, however I may regret your determination, I shall not attempt to interfere with it. But I am persuaded you will speedily change your mind.”
“If I do, I'll write to you.”
“No; write to Sir Bridgnorth. He is searching for you. He ought to have a letter. Address him at the 'Grosvenor Hotel.' He is now in town.”
“I will do it. Before we separate, give me your word that you won't follow me, nor attempt to find out my abode. You will gain nothing by the discovery.”
“I give you my word,” replied the other. “Enough,” said Walter. “I thank you heartily for the trouble you have taken about me. Adieu!”
On issuing forth into the shop, Walter found the hairdresser standing rather suspiciously near the glass-door. But he seemed to have some employment at the counter. Walter, however, could not help remarking that Sigebert's manner towards him seemed more respectful than it had been.
As he received payment for the task he had performed, the hairdresser exclaimed:
“Ah, sir, I fear you'll regret the loss of your beard. Your best friend wouldn't recognise you—you're so much changed. But don't lay the blame on me. I did my best to dissuade you.”
As he bowed the young man out, he looked after him for a moment, and saw that he proceeded towards the bridge, whereupon the wily Sigebert made a significant gesture to his wife as he returned.
At this juncture, the tall, professional-looking gentleman came forth, and having nothing to pay, merely offered his thanks as he went out.
A hansom cab chancing to pass at the moment, he immediately got into it, and ordered the driver to go to the “Grosvenor Hotel.”
Meanwhile, Sigebert, having divested himself of his apron and put on a hat, nodded to his wife, and followed Walter, who was not yet out of sight—his tall figure rendering him easily distinguishable.