White Stone Day Read Online Free PDF

for I have no doubt
that the charade will be obvious to your trained, sceptical eye.' 'If
I may ask,' Whitty interrupts, 'why do you present this opportunity
to me? Having uncovered the golden egg, why not eat the omelette
yourself?'

    'My
pursuit has taken me too long. He has me royally pegged and will
vanish to some distant corner of Europe the moment he senses my
presence. I leave it to you, Mr Whitty, to accomplish what I never
can. Expose the scoundrel, and collect your fee.'

    A
lovely word, fee.

    'How
much?'

    '£10
in advance, and £20 upon delivery of your article.'

    Whitty
considers the ethics involved, of writing an article and collecting a
fee from the party who is to benefit. Such an arrangement carries
more than a whiff of corruption.

    '£20
in advance and £30 upon delivery,' says the correspondent. The
American produces another cheroot, smiling in a way Whitty does not
altogether like.

    I
have a confession to make, sir. I have been on your trail for three
days. Imagine, the sharpest pen in London living like a stinking
beggar! I assure you that a man of your accomplishment would not
suffer such a fate in the land of the free!'

    Comfort
has him cold. At the same time, he has gone to considerable trouble
to make this offer, therefore he must judge it worth his while. '£15
in advance, £25 upon publication, and not a farthing less.'
'Done.'

    Comfort
transfers the envelope, then grasps Whitty's hand in a hot, wet palm.
'Your invitation, sir. And your advance. On that note, allow me to
bid you a very fine day.'

    Whitty
opens the envelope to find two banknotes, a tenner and a fiver, as
negotiated. For the American at least, everything has gone according
to plan.

    Mahumud
el Khali bin Sai–ud, proprietor of the Alhambra, in a black
frock coat and fez, reclines upon a faded pillow, puffs upon a hookah
and watches Whitty dress, while Ahmed performs the service of valet.
Excellent training for his son, to become conversant with details of
the English gentleman's way of life.

    The
bin Sai–ud line is the oldest house in south–western
Sudan, having fought many battles with honour before times changed.
Now there is no longer a place there for honourable men, Khartoum
being overrun by dirty fellows with foreskins, unbelievers, and
descendants of slaves who hold a grudge against their former owners.
Therefore bin Sai–ud removed his family and relations to
London, where the caliphs reign by means of lawsuits and not torture,
and where ordinary men may conduct their affairs in peace.

    His
regard for the English press owes much to Edmund Whitty of The
Falcon, who came to his rescue during one of London's episodic
outbreaks of moral indignation, when Parliament, spurred by the
League for Moral Hygiene, resolved to combat vice. Obediently, the
Metropolitan Police selected the Alhambra for a symbolic raid, in
which the pot–hatted Crusaders would save Christendom from
godless Arabs and their harems, and rid the world of sodomy into the
bargain. Clearly, the Mussulman stood as designated scapegoat du
jour. It is not Whitty's normal practice to ride to the rescue of
maltreated foreigners; there are too many of them, and their names
too difficult to spell. Moreover, it is generally wise for a London
correspondent to keep his head down when Miss Grundy stalks the
streets. Yet the hypocrisy was too much to resist – not to
mention the opportunity to settle some professional scores.

    Shortly
thereafter, an issue of The Falcon featured a social note by the
Amateur Clubman, the pseudonym he employs when baiting the reigning
establishment.

    Having
suffered an onset of neuralgia, the Amateur Clubman recently had
occasion to elicit the services of the Alhamhra Baths, where he
encountered several well–connected gentlemen with similar
complaints, including Mr Coxwell and Mr Glaisher of the Whigs, as
well as Mr Angerstein, MP, the Conservative Party Whip . . .

    A
framed copy of the piece now hangs above the proprietor's