At the moment when Mrs. Witherspoon made her appearance he was sitting in his library reading a copy of Sainte-Beuve and waiting for Bibby, the butler, to announce tea. It was eight minutes to five and there was still eight minutes to wait; so Mr. Hepplewhite went on reading Sainte-Beuve.
Then Mrs. Witherspoon! intoned Bibby, and Mr. Hepplewhite rose quickly, adjusted his eye-glass and came punctiliously forward.
My dear Mrs. Witherspoon! he exclaimed crisply. I am really delighted to see you. It was quite charming of you to give me this week-end.
Adorable of you to ask me Mr. Hepplewhite! returned the lady. I've been looking forward to this visit for weeks. What a sweet room? Is that a Corot?
Yes-yes! murmured her host modestly. Rather nice, I think, eh? I'll show you my few belongings after tea. Now will you go upstairs first or have tea first?
Just as you say, beamed Mrs. Witherspoon. Perhaps I had better run up and take off my veil.
Whichever you prefer, he replied chivalrously. Do exactly as you like. Tea will be ready in a couple of minutes.
Then I think I'll run up.
Then I think I'll run up.
Very well. Bibby, show Mrs. Witherspoon-
Very good, sir. This way, please, madam. Stockin', fetch Mrs. Witherspoon's bag from the hall.
Mr. Hepplewhite stood rubbing his delicate hands in front of the fire, telling himself what a really great pleasure it was to have Mrs. Witherspoon staying with him over the week-end. He was having a dinner party for her that evening-of forty-eight. All that it had been necessary for him to do to have the party was to tell Mr. Sadducee, his secretary, that he wished to have it and direct him to send the invitations from List Number One and then to tell Bibby the same thing and to order the chef to serve Dinner Number Four-only to have Johannisberger Cabinet instead of Niersteiner.
All these things were highly important to Mr. Hepplewhite, for upon the absolute smoothness with which tea and dinner were served and the accuracy with which his valet selected socks to match his tie his entire happiness, to say nothing of his peace of mind, depended. His daily life consisted of a series of subdued and nicely adjusted social events. They were forecast for months ahead. Nothing was ever done on the spur of the moment at Mr. Hepplewhite's. He could tell to within a couple of seconds just exactly what was going to occur during the balance of the day, the remainder of Mrs. Witherspoon's stay and the rest of the month. It would have upset him very much not to know exactly what was going to happen, for he was a meticulously careful host and being a creature of habit the unexpected was apt to agitate him extremely.
So now as he stood rubbing his hands it was in the absolute certainty that in just a few more seconds one of the footmen would appear between the tapestry portieres bearing aloft a silver tray with the tea things, and then Bibby would come in with the paper, and presently Mrs. Witherspoon would come down and she would make tea for him and they would talk about tea, and Aiken, and whether the Abner Fullertons were going to get a domestic or foreign divorce, and how his bridge was these days. It would be very nice, and he rubbed his hands very gently and waited for the Dresden clock to strike five in the subdued and decorous way that it had. But he did not hear it strike.
Instead a shriek rang out from the hall above, followed by yells and feet pounding down the stairs. Mr. Hepplewhite turned cold and something hard rose up in his throat. His sight dimmed. And then Bibby burst in, pale and with protruding eyes.
There was a man in the guest room! he gasped. Stockin's got him. What shall we do?
At that moment Mrs. Witherspoon followed.
Oh, Mr. Hepplewhite! Oh, Mr. Hepplewhite! she gasped, staggering toward him.
Mr. Hepplewhite would have taken her in his arms and attempted to comfort her only it was not done in Mr. Hepplewhite's set unless under extreme provocation. So he pressed an armchair upon her; or, rather, pressed her into an armchair; and leaned against the bookcase feeling very faint. He was extremely agitated.
S-send for the police! S-s-send for B-burk! he stuttered. Burk was a husky watchman who also acted as a personal guard for Mr. Hepplewhite.
An alarm began to beat a deafening staccato in the hall outside the library. Bibby rushed gurgling from the room. Several tall men in knee breeches and silk stockings dashed excitedly up and down stairs using expressions such as had never before been heard by Mr. Hepplewhite, and the clanging gong of a police wagon was audible as it clattered up the Avenue.
Oh, Mr. Hepplewhite, whispered Mrs. Witherspoon, unconsciously seeking his hand. I never was so frightened in my life!
Then the gong stopped and the police poured into the house and up the stairs. There were muffled noises and suppressed ejaculations of Aw, come on there, now! I've got him, Mike! No funny business now, you! Come along quiet!
The whole house seemed blue with policemen, and Mr. Hepplewhite became aware of a very fat man in a blue cap marked Captain, who removed the cap deferentially and otherwise indicated that he was making obeisance. Behind the fat man stood three other equally fat men, who held between them with grim firmness, by arm, neck and shoulder, a much smaller-in fact, quite a small-man shabby, unkempt, and with a desperate look upon his unshaven face.
We've got him, all right, Mr. Hepplewhite! exulted the captain, obviously grateful that God had vouchsafed to deliver the criminal into his and not into other hands. Shall I take him to the house-or do you want to examine him?
I? ejaculated Mr. Hepplewhite. Mercy, no! Take him away as quickly as possible!
As you say, sir, wheezed the captain. Come along, boys! Take him over to court and arraign him!
Yes, do! urged Mrs. Witherspoon. And arraign him as hard as you can; for he really frightened me nearly to death, the terrible man!
Leave him to me, ma'am! adjured the captain Will you have your butler act as complainant sir? he asked.
Why-yes-Bibby will do whatever is proper, agreed Mr. Hepplewhite. It will not be necessary for me to go to court, will it?
Oh, no! answered the captain. Mr. Bibby will do all right. I suppose we had better make the charge burglary, sir?
I suppose so, replied Mr. Hepplewhite vaguely.
Get on, boys, ordered the captain. Good evening, sir. Good evening, ma'am. Step lively, you!
The blue cloud faded away, bearing with it both Bibby and the burglar. Then the third footman brought the belated tea.
What a frightful thing to have happen! grieved Mrs. Witherspoon as she poured out the tea for Mr. Hepplewhite. You don't take cream, do you?
No, thanks, he answered. I find too much cream hard to digest. I have to be rather careful, you know. By the way, you haven't told me where the burglar was or what he was doing when you went into the room.
He was in the bed, said Mrs. Witherspoon.
In the 'Decay of Lying,' Mr. Tutt, said Tutt thoughtfully, as he dropped in for a moment's chat after lunch, Oscar Wilde says, 'There is no essential incongruity between crime and culture.'
The senior partner removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and carefully polished the lenses with a bit of chamois, which he produced from his watch pocket, meanwhile resting the muscles of his forehead by elevating his eyebrows until he somewhat resembled an inquiring but good-natured owl.
That's plain enough, he replied. The most highly cultivated people are often the most unscrupulous. I go Oscar one better and declare that there is a distinct relationship between crime and progress!
You don't say, now! ejaculated Tutt. How do you make that out?
Mr. Tutt readjusted his spectacles and slowly selected a stogy from the bundle in the dusty old cigar box.
You don't say, now! ejaculated Tutt. How do you make that out?
Mr. Tutt readjusted his spectacles and slowly selected a stogy from the bundle in the dusty old cigar box.
Crime, he announced, is the violation of the will of the majority as expressed in the statutes. The law is wholly arbitrary and depends upon public opinion. Acts which are crimes in one century or country become virtues in another, and vice versa. Moreover, there is no difference, except one of degree, between infractions of etiquette and of law, each of which expresses the feelings and ideas of society at a given moment. Violations of good taste, manners, morals, illegalities, wrongs, crimes-they are all fundamentally the same thing, the insistence on one's own will in defiance of society as a whole. The man who keeps his hat on in a drawing-room is essentially a criminal because he prefers his own way of doing things to that adopted by his fellows.
That's all right, answered Tutt. But how about progress?
Why, that is simple, replied his partner. The man who refuses to bow to habit, tradition, law-who thinks for himself and acts for himself, who evolves new theories, who has the courage of his convictions and stakes his life and liberty upon them-that man is either a statesman, a prophet or a criminal. And in the end he is either hailed as a hero and a liberator or is burned, cast into prison or crucified.
Tutt looked interested.
Well, now, he returned, helping himself from the box, I never thought of it, but, of course, it's true. Your proposition is that progress depends on development and development depends on new ideas. If the new idea is contrary to those of society it is probably criminal. If its inventor puts it across, gets away with it, and persuades society that he is right he is a leader in the march of progress. If he fails he goes to jail. Hence the relationship between crime and progress. Why not say that crime is progress?
If successful it is, answered Mr. Tutt. But the moment it is successful it ceases to be crime.
I get you, nodded Tutt. Here to-day it is a crime to kill one's grandmother; but I recall reading that among certain savage tribes to do so is regarded as a highly virtuous act. Now if I convince society that to kill one's grandmother is a good thing it ceases to be a crime. Society has progressed. I am a public benefactor.
And if you don't persuade society you go to the chair, remarked Mr. Tutt laconically.
To use another illustration, exclaimed Tutt, warming to the subject, the private ownership of property at the present time is recognized and protected by the law, but if we had a Bolshevik government it might be a crime to refuse to share one's property with others.