It
is imperative now, that I should do something to help my father." "If you become an actress," Shiel said bitterly, "my chances of
marrying you will indeed be small." "Not smaller than they are now," Gladys observed. "_Au revoir._" And
with one of those tantalising and perplexing smiles, with which some
women, consciously or unconsciously, counteract--and sometimes,
perhaps, for reasons best known to themselves--completely nullify the
needless severity of their speech, shook hands with Shiel, and left
him. CHAPTER XVIII

STAGE THREE


The weeks sped by. Gladys Martin went on the Stage, and thanks to
beauty and influence, rather than to talent--though in the latter
respect she was certainly not wanting--she became an immediate
success. Her photos, some taken alone, and some with Bromley Burnham,
occupied a conspicuous place in all the weekly illustrateds, and in
innumerable shop windows. People talked of her as they do of all
actresses. Some said her father was a broken-down peer; some, a needy
parson, and some, a policeman! Some said the Duke of Warminster was
madly in love with her; others that Seaton Smyth, the notorious
Cabinet Minister, was pining for a divorce on her behalf, and others,
that she was seldom seen off the stage--she was entertaining the King
of the Belgians. "I've met her," Lilian Rosenberg said to Shiel, as they stopped one
evening to gaze at Gladys's portraits outside the Imperial Theatre. "She came to our place to have a dream interpreted, and I thought
nothing of her. I don't admire her the least bit in the world, do
you?" "I do," Shiel replied, rather sharply. "Why, you sound quite angry," Lilian Rosenberg laughed. "One would
think you knew her. I wonder if Bromley Burnham is very much in love
with her! He looks as if he were in these photographs! Do you think it
possible for a man and woman to make love to each other every night on
the stage, like they do, without one or other of them being affected?" "I really couldn't say," Shiel replied. "I'm no authority on such
matters--they don't interest me in the least." But this was an untruth--they did interest him--and very much, too. He
seldom, indeed, thought of anything else. Had Gladys fallen in love
with Bromley Burnham? Could she resist the fascinations of so handsome
a man? He did not, of course, pay any heed to the gossip that coupled
her name with dukes and other notorieties. He knew Gladys too well for
that, but when he saw her thus photographed, clasped in the arms of
Bromley Burnham, he had grave apprehensions. He longed to see her--to
ask her if she were still free; but his every attempt failed. She
always avoided him, and there was no other alternative save to further
his scheme--his scheme for crushing the Sorcery Company--and to hope
for the best. And in these dark days of his life, when he was tormented by the
yellow demon of jealousy, and at the same time endured hunger, Lilian
Rosenberg was his solacing angel. Utterly regardless of
appearances--she did not exaggerate when she said, "I am not
conventional; I don't care twopence for Mrs. Grundy." She visited him
in his garret, and she seldom went empty-handed. "I don't want your things," he rudely expostulated, when she loaded
his table with cold chicken, jellies and potted meats. "I'm not
starving." "Yes, you are," she said, "and you've got to eat all I bring you." And
she made him eat. She made him, too, go for walks with her, and she
insisted that he should go with her on Saturday afternoons for long
rambles in the country, knowing all the time that Kelson was eating
his heart out for love of her, and prophesying all kinds of terrible
happenings to himself, unless she returned his affections. Up to this point, at all events, Shiel did not allow his friendship
with Lilian to blind him to the fact that he was cultivating her
acquaintance with a set object. He frequently sounded her to see how
much she knew of the inner workings of the Firm, and he satisfied
himself that she knew very little. "They never discuss their powers in my presence," she told him, "but I
see them do very queer things, Mr. Kelson seldom walks to his room, he
flies. He takes a little jump into the air, moves his arms and legs as
if he were swimming, and flies upstairs and along the corridor. And
what do you think happened the other day? Some men were carrying into
the building a huge, oak chest and several large pictures that Mr.
Hamar had bought at a sale, when Mr. Kelson arrived on the scene. "'There is no need to lift these things,' he said to the men, 'put
them down.' He then made some rapid signs in the air and muttered
something; whereupon the chest and pictures rose in the air, and
followed him into the building, and up the stairs to their respective
quarters." "The men must have been surprised," Shiel said. "Surprised!" Lilian Rosenberg ejaculated. "They were simply bowled
over, and looked at one another with such idiotic expressions in their
bulging eyes and gaping mouths, that I nearly died with laughter." "And you've no idea how Kelson did that trick?" "None, excepting, of course, that the signs he made, and what he said,
must have had something to do with it." It was on the tip of Shiel's tongue to ask her, if she would try and
find out for him, but he checked himself. Even at this juncture of
their friendship he dare not appear too curious. He must wait. To go back to Hamar. He had seen Gladys act; he had become more
infatuated with her than ever; and his passion was stimulated by the
knowledge that she was universally admired, and that half the men in
London were dying to be introduced to her. "Money will do anything," one of Hamar's friends--they were all
Jews--remarked to him. "Offer the manager of the Imperial a hundred
pounds and he'll do anything you like with regard to the girl. Every
manager can be bought and every actress, too." The suggestion was a welcome one, and Hamar acted on it. But whether
or not the exception proves the rule, he was immeasurably disconcerted
to find that with regard to money and managers, his friend had
deceived him. Far from being pleased at the offer of a bribe, the
manager of the Imperial, an old Harrovian, raised his foot, and Hamar,
who invariably paled at the prospect of violence, hurriedly withdrew. On the eve of the initiation into Stage Three, the trio were very much
perturbed. "I hope to goodness nothing will appear to me," Kelson said. "My heart
isn't strong enough to stand the shock of seeing striped figures. They
should come to you, Curtis--a few jumps wouldn't do you any
harm--you're fat enough." Agreeing each to sleep with a light in his room, they separated, and
at about two o'clock Curtis, who had been suffering of late from his
liver--the effect, so the doctor told him, of living a little too
well--and could not sleep, heard a knock at his door. To his
astonishment it was Kelson--Kelson, in his pyjamas. "Hulloa!" Curtis exclaimed. "What on earth brings you here, and
however did you come?"