White Stone Day Read Online Free PDF Page B

head like a
diploma – another example of Whitty's former style and dash,
another memory to torment him in his time of trouble.

    Following
this piece of reportage, members of the League for Moral Hygiene
became curiously mute. A week later, an article appeared in the Daily
Telegraph on the benefits of the Turkish bath as an economical
safeguard against the pollution that bedevils this overpopulated
city. Thanks to The Falcon, the Alhambra transformed from Sodom to
health spa overnight, and Whitty acquired a welcome line of credit.

    A
dusty stream of sunlight filters through the lattice shutters,
casting a dappled pattern onto his precious city clothes, which hang
neatly over a chair–back.

    Whitty
fastens his necktie (stiffened, to put the chin properly at
attention) and with painful awkwardness seats himself upon a brocade
pillow on the Turkey carpet (bin Sai–ud marvels at the
stiffness of the English leg), to help himself to a wad of the
proprietor's morning qat. Through an archway he can see sons Seven,
Three and Six, as well as trusty Ahmed, crouched upon their haunches
around a neatly drawn circle of sand on the floor, tracing letters
and words in Arabic with their fingers and chanting verses from the
Koran. Beyond that room is the kitchen in which, to judge by the
sounds heard from time to time, the bin Sai–uds butcher their
own goats.

    'Esteemed
Khali, I spoke at length with an American gentleman this morning and
wonder if he might be known to you.'

    'He
has honoured our establishment only once before, Mr Whitty.'

    The
proprietor raises his voice in order to be heard over the prayers:
'Ahmed, come please, and reveal to Mr Whitty your estimation of the
American gentleman.'

    Obediently,
young Ahmed ceases chanting in Arabic, enters the room and replies in
a startling cockney: 'Bloke have the wide–eye of a gamesman.
Dunnage be of a macer or a nobbier, could be. Takes arsenic powder
for snuff. Wears an 'at wif a finny in the band an' a chif in 'is
gaily. 'Is clock 'as the colour of an arsenic–eater . . .'

    So,
thinks the correspondent: A fiver in his hat–band and a knife
in his shoe – suitable equipment for an agent with the
Pinkertons, and for a dangerous tout. The picture of Julius Comfort
remains ambiguous; Whitty allows the £15 in his pocket to cast
the deciding vote, and resolves to remain on his guard.

    Rising
to his feet, he takes his plum–coloured coat (well regarded on
Bond Street) from the back of the chair, smooths his waistcoat, and
extends one leg to inspect the fit of his peg–top trousers.
Khali extends the tube from his hookah to Whitty, who accepts a
lungful of spiced tobacco smoke. 'May I enquire as to any change in
the prospects of the esteemed journalist?'

    'You
are a patient man, Khali, and I am in your debt. It is a burden and a
sorrow to me and my house – which, at present, we must bear
together.'

    'Do
not disturb yourself, my friend. Should I die, it shall be counted as
part of the poor–rate, for which Allah's blessing awaits: a
soft couch of petals and a choice of young virgins served with
breakfast.' 'Whereas, should I die before payment in full, I shall
receive a couch made of nettles, and a choice of toothless hags.'

    Crouch
Manor, Chester Wolds, Oxfordshire

    He
thought he saw an Elephant, That practised on a fife; He looked
again, and found it was A letter from his wife. 'At length I
realise,' he said, 'The bitterness of life.'

    The
Reverend Charles Grantham Lambert seats himself in his comfortless
chair, in his comfortless drawing room, where his collected offspring
silently awaits the daily reckoning; silently, for it is a rule of
the house that nobody shall address Father until first addressed by
him. Emma knows this to be common practice in the more respectable
households, yet it makes her feel somewhat like a ghost, for it is
said that they too must be spoken to before they can speak.

    Miss
Pouch hovers over her charges, reading her employer's every