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  CHAPTER X. HIS EXCELLENCY ORMUZ KHAN

  The city clocks were chiming the hour of ten on the following morningwhen a page from the Savoy approached the shop of Mr. Jarvis, bootmaker,which is situated at no great distance from the hotel. The impudent faceof the small boy wore an expression of serio-comic fright as he pushedopen the door and entered the shop.

  Jarvis, the bootmaker, belonged to a rapidly disappearing class ofBritish tradesmen. He buckled to no one, but took an artistic pride inhis own handiwork, criticism from a layman merely provoking a scornfulanger which had lost Jarvis many good customers.

  He was engaged, at the moment of the page's entrance, in a littlefitting room at the back of his cramped premises, but through thedoorway the boy could see the red, bespectacled face with its fringe ofbristling white beard, in which he detected all the tokens of brewingstorm. He whistled softly in self-sympathy.

  "Yes, sir," Jarvis was saying to an invisible patron, "it's a welcomesight to see a real Englishman walk into my shop nowadays. London isn'tLondon, sir, since the war, and the Strand will never be the Strandagain." He turned to his assistant, who stood beside him, bootjack inhand. "If he sends them back again," he directed, "tell him to go toone of the French firms in Regent Street who cater to dainty ladies." Hepositively snorted with indignation, while the page, listening, whistledagain and looked down at the parcel which he carried.

  "An unwelcome customer, Jarvis?" inquired the voice of the man in thefitting room.

  "Quite unwelcome," said Jarvis. "I don't want him. I have more work thanI know how to turn out. I wish he would go elsewhere. I wish--"

  He paused. He had seen the page boy. The latter, having undone hisparcel, was holding out a pair of elegant, fawn-coloured shoes.

  "Great Moses!" breathed Jarvis. "He's had the cheek to send them backagain!"

  "His excellency--" began the page, when Jarvis snatched the shoes fromhis hand and hurled them to the other end of the shop. His white beardpositively bristled.

  "Tell his excellency," he shouted, "to go to the devil, with mycompliments!"

  So positively ferocious was his aspect that the boy, with upraised arm,backed hastily out into the street. Safety won: "Blimey!" exclaimed theyouth. "He's the warm goods, he is!"

  He paused for several moments, staring in a kind of stupefied admirationat the closed door of Mr. Jarvis's establishment. He whistled again,softly, and then began to run--for the formidable Mr. Jarvis suddenlyopened the door. "Hi, boy!" he called to the page. The page hesitated,glancing back doubtfully. "Tell his excellency that I will send round inabout half an hour to remeasure his foot."

  "D'you mean it?" inquired the boy, impudently--"or is there a catch init?"

  "I'll tan your hide, my lad!" cried the bootmaker--"and I mean that!Take my message and keep your mouth shut."

  The boy departed, grinning, and little more than half an hour later arespectable-looking man presented himself at Savoy Court, inquiring ofthe attendant near the elevator for the apartments of "his excellency,"followed by an unintelligible word which presumably represented "OrmuzKhan." The visitor wore a well-brushed but threadbare tweed suit,although his soft collar was by no means clean. He had a short,reddish-brown beard, and very thick, curling hair of the same hueprotruded from beneath a bowler hat which had seen long service.

  Like Mr. Jarvis, he was bespectacled, and his teeth were muchdiscoloured and apparently broken in front, as is usual with cobblers.His hands, too, were toil-stained and his nails very black. He carrieda cardboard box. He seemed to be extremely nervous, and this nervousnesspalpably increased when the impudent page, who was standing in thelobby, giggled on hearing his inquiry.

  "He's second floor," said the youth. "Are you from Hot-Stuff Jarvis?"

  "That's right, lad," replied the visitor, speaking with a markedManchester accent; "from Mr. Jarvis."

  "And are you really going up?" inquired the boy with mock solicitude.

  "I'm going up right enough. That's what I'm here for."

  "Shut up, Chivers," snapped the hall porter. "Ring the bell." He glancedat the cobbler. "Second floor," he said, tersely, and resumed his studyof a newspaper which he had been reading.

  The representative of Mr. Jarvis was carried up to the second floor andthe lift man, having indicated at which door he should knock, descendedagain. The cobbler's nervousness thereupon became more marked than ever,so that a waiter, seeing him looking helplessly from door to door, tookpity on him and inquired for whom he was searching.

  "His excellency," was the reply; "but I'm hanged if I can remember thenumber or how to pronounce his name."

  The waiter glanced at him oddly. "Ormuz Khan," he said, and rang thebell beside a door. As he hurried away, "Good luck!" he called back.

  There was a short interval, and then the door was opened by a manwho looked like a Hindu. He wore correct morning dress and throughgold-rimmed pince-nez he stared inquiringly at the caller.

  "Is his excellency at home?" asked the latter. "I'm from Mr. Jarvis, thebootmaker."

  "Oh!" said the other, smiling slightly. "Come in. What is your name?"

  "Parker, sir. From Mr. Jarvis."

  As the door closed, Parker found himself in a small lobby. Besidean umbrella rack a high-backed chair was placed. "Sit down," he wasdirected. "I will tell his excellency that you are here."

  A door was opened and closed again, and Parker found himself alone. Hetwirled his bowler hat, which he held in his hand, and stared aboutthe place vacantly. Once he began to whistle, but checked himself andcoughed nervously. Finally the Hindu gentleman reappeared, beckoning tohim to enter.

  Parker stood up very quickly and advanced, hat in hand.

  Then he remembered the box which he had left on the floor, and, stoopingto recover it, he dropped his hat. But at last, leaving his hat upon thechair and carrying the box under his arm, he entered a room which hadbeen converted into a very businesslike office.

  There was a typewriter upon a table near the window at which someone hadevidently been at work quite recently, and upon a larger table in thecentre of the room were dispatch boxes, neat parcels of documents,ledgers, works of reference, and all the evidence of keen commercialactivity. Crossing the room, the Hindu rapped upon an inner door, openedit, and standing aside, "The man from the bootmaker," he said in a lowvoice.

  Parker advanced, peering about him as one unfamiliar with hissurroundings. As he crossed the threshold the door was closed behindhim, and he found himself in a superheated atmosphere heavy with theperfume of hyacinths.

  The place was furnished as a sitting room, but some of its appointmentswere obviously importations. Its keynote was orientalism, not of thatsensuous yet grossly masculine character which surrounds the wealthyEastern esthete but quite markedly feminine. There were an extraordinarynumber of cushions, and many bowls and vases containing hyacinths. Whatother strange appointments were present Parker was far too nervous toobserve.

  He stood dumbly before a man who lolled back in a deep, cushioned chairand whose almond-shaped eyes, black as night, were set immovably uponhim. This man was apparently young. He wore a rich, brocaded robe,trimmed with marten fur, and out of it his long ivory throat rosestatuesquely. His complexion was likewise of this uniform ivory colour,and from his low smooth brow his hair was brushed back in a series ofglossy black waves.

  His lips were full and very red. As a woman he might have beenconsidered handsome--even beautiful; in a man this beauty was unnaturaland repellent. He wore Oriental slippers, fur-lined, and his feet restedon a small ottoman. One long, slender hand lay upon a cushion placed onthe chair arm, and a pretty girl was busily engaged in manicuringhis excellency's nails. Although the day held every promise of beinguncomfortably hot, already a huge fire was burning in the grate.

  As Parker stood before him, the languid, handsome Oriental did not stira muscle, merely keeping the gaze of his strange black eyes fixed uponthe nervous cobbler. The manicurist, after one quick upward glance,continued her work. But in th
is moment of distraction she had hurt thecuticle of one of those delicate, slender fingers.

  Ormuz Khan withdrew his hand sharply from the cushion, glanced aside atthe girl, and then, extending his hand again, pushed her away from him.Because of her half-kneeling posture, she almost fell, but managed torecover herself by clutching at the edge of a little table upon whichthe implements of her trade were spread. The table rocked and a bowl ofwater fell crashing on the carpet. His excellency spoke. His voice wasvery musical.

  "Clumsy fool," he said. "You have hurt me. Go."

  The girl became very white and began to gather up the articles upon thetable. "I am sorry," she said, "but--"

  "I do not wish you to speak," continued the musical voice; "only to go."

  Hurriedly collecting the remainder of the implements and placing themin an attache case, the manicurist hurried from the room. Her eyes wereoverbright and her lips pathetically tremulous. Ormuz Khan never glancedin her direction again, but resumed his disconcerting survey of Parker."Yes?" he said.

  Parker bumblingly began to remove the lid of the cardboard box which hehad brought with him.

  "I do not wish you to alter the shoes you have made," said hisexcellency. "I instructed you to remeasure my foot in order that youmight make a pair to fit."

  "Yes, sir," said Parker. "Quite so, your excellency." And he dropped thebox and the shoes upon the floor. "Just a moment, sir?"

  From an inner pocket he drew out a large sheet of white paper, a pencil,and a tape measure. "Will you place your foot upon this sheet of paper,sir?"

  Ormuz Khan raised his right foot listlessly.

  "Slipper off, please, sir."

  "I am waiting," replied the other, never removing his gaze from Parker'sface.

  "Oh, I beg your pardon sir, your excellency," muttered the bootmaker.

  Dropping upon one knee, he removed the furred slipper from a slender,arched foot, bare, of the delicate colour of ivory, and as small as awoman's.

  "Now, sir."

  The ivory foot was placed upon the sheet of paper, and very clumsilyParker drew its outline. He then took certain measurements and made anumber of notes with a stub of thick pencil. Whenever his none tooclean hands touched Ormuz Khan's delicate skin the Oriental perceptiblyshuddered.

  "Of course, sir," said Parker at last, "I should really have taken yourmeasurement with the sock on."

  "I wear only the finest silk."

  "Very well, sir. As you wish."

  Parker replaced paper, pencil, and measure, and, packing up the rejectedshoes, made for the door.

  "Oh, bootmaker!" came the musical voice.

  Parker turned. "Yes, sir?"

  "They will be ready by Monday?"

  "If possible, your excellency."

  "Otherwise I shall not accept them."

  Ormuz Khan drew a hyacinth from a vase close beside him and languidlywaved it in dismissal.

  In the outer room the courteous secretary awaited Parker, and there wasapparently no one else in the place, for the Hindu conducted him to thelobby and opened the door.

  Parker said "Good morning, sir," and would have departed without his hathad not the secretary smilingly handed it to him.

  When, presently, the cobbler emerged from the elevator, below, he pausedbefore leaving the hotel to mop his perspiring brow with a large, soiledhandkerchief. The perfume of hyacinths seemed to have pursued him,bringing with it a memory of the handsome, effeminate ivory face of theman above. He was recalled to his senses by the voice of the impudentpage.

  "Been kicked out, gov'nor?" the youth inquired. "You're the third thismorning."

  "Is that so?" answered Parker. "Who were the other two, lad?"

  "The girl wot comes to do his nails. A stunnin' bird, too. She came downcryin' a few minutes ago. Then--"

  "Shut up, Chivers!" cried the hall porter. "You're asking for the sack,and I'm the man to get it for you."

  Chivers did not appear to be vastly perturbed by this prospect, andhe grinned agreeably at Parker as the latter made his way out into thecourtyard.

  Any one sufficiently interested to have done so might have found matterfor surprise had he followed that conscientious bootmaker as he left thehotel. He did not proceed to the shop of Mr. Jarvis, but, crossing theStrand, mounted a city-bound motor bus and proceeded eastward upon it asfar as the Law Courts. Here he dismounted and plunged into that maze oftortuous lanes which dissects the triangle formed by Chancery Lane andHolborn.

  His step was leisurely, and once he stopped to light his pipe, peeringwith interest into the shop window of a law stationer. Finally he cameto another little shop which had once formed part of a private house. Itwas of the lock-up variety, and upon the gauze blind which concealed theinterior appeared the words: "The Chancery Agency."

  Whether the Chancery Agency was a press agency, a literary or a dramaticagency, was not specified, but Mr. Parker was evidently well acquaintedwith the establishment, for he unlocked the door with a key which hecarried and, entering a tiny shop, closed and locked the door behind himagain.

  The place was not more than ten yards square and the ceiling was verylow. It was barely furnished as an office, but evidently Mr. Parker'sbusiness was not of a nature to detain him here. There was a second doorto be unlocked; and beyond it appeared a flight of narrow stairs--atsome time the servant's stair of the partially demolished house whichhad occupied that site in former days. Relocking this door in turn, Mr.Parker mounted the stair and presently found himself in a spacious andwell-furnished bedroom.

  This bedroom contained an extraordinary number of wardrobes, and abig dressing table with wing mirrors lent a theatrical touch to theapartment. This was still further enhanced by the presence of all sortsof wigs, boxes of false hair, and other items of make-up. At the tableMr. Parker seated himself, and when, half an hour later, the bedroomdoor was opened, it was not Mr. Parker who crossed the book-lined studywithin and walked through to the private office where Innes was seatedwriting. It was Mr. Paul Harley.