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It occurred to me that Strickland had concealed his address, after all. In giving his partner the one I knew he was perhaps playing a trick on him. I do not know why I had an inkling that it would appeal to Strickland's sense of humour to bring a furious stockbroker over to Paris on a fool's errand to an ill-famed house in a mean street. Still, I thought I had better go and see.
Let's dine outside and have some more chops-lots of 'em and underdone bloody ones with gristle. Now a December evening in Northern India is bitterly cold, and Fleete's suggestion was that of a maniac. 'Come in, said Strickland sternly. 'Come in at once. Fleete came, and when the lamps were brought, we saw that he was literally plastered with dirt from head to foot.
Then he joined the Catholic church, but he joined many a church thereafter to find its hidden meaning. He was trusted to a limited extent by Sir Charles Napier, and he so insinuated himself with the natives, that he was one of them, and sharer of their mysterious powers. Kipling has pictured him under the name of "Strickland" as an occultly powerful personage in several of his stories.
The first of the Winterbournes Strickland, lies a long mile beyond Hedgend Farm, where we turn sharp to the left and traverse a very lonely road, sometimes between close woods and rarely in sight of human habitation until the drop to the Stour brings us to Blandford Forum, a pleasant, bright and clean town built within a wide loop of the river that here begins to assume the dignity of a navigable stream, crawling lazily among the water meadows, with back-waters and cuts that bring to mind certain sections of the Upper Thames.
In a hundred years, if you and I are remembered at all, it will be because we knew Charles Strickland." I was astonished, and at the same time I was very much excited. I remembered suddenly my last talk with him. "Where can one see his work?" I asked. "Is he having any success? Where is he living?" "No; he has no success. I don't think he's ever sold a picture.
To the acute observer no one can produce the most casual work without disclosing the innermost secrets of his soul. As I walked up the endless stairs of the house in which Strickland lived, I confess that I was a little excited. It seemed to me that I was on the threshold of a surprising adventure. I looked about the room with curiosity. It was even smaller and more bare than I remembered it.
The real estate man looked wondrous sly and tapped the side of his nose with a lean finger. "Why, I tore up that old paper long ago. It warn't no good to me," said Pepper. "I wouldn't take the farm at that price for a gift," and he departed with a sneering smile upon his lips. "And well he did destroy it," declared Mr. Strickland. "It was a forgery that is what it was.
'My poor Strickland, I said to him, 'they've all got a wife somewhere; that is generally why they come to the islands. Ata is a sensible girl, and she doesn't expect any ceremony before the Mayor. She's a Protestant, and you know they don't look upon these things like the Catholics. "Then he said: 'But what does Ata say to it? 'It appears that she has a <i beguin> for you, I said.
Three flights up a Woman in a dressing-gown, with touzled hair, opened a door and looked at me silently as I passed. At length I reached the sixth floor, and knocked at the door numbered thirty-two. There was a sound within, and the door was partly opened. Charles Strickland stood before me. He uttered not a word. He evidently did not know me. I told him my name.
Colonel MacAndrew and his wife uttered expressions of incredulity, and Mrs. Strickland sprang to her feet. "Do you mean to say you never saw her?" "There's no one to see. He's quite alone." "That's preposterous," cried Mrs. MacAndrew. "I knew I ought to have gone over myself," said the Colonel. "You can bet your boots I'd have routed her out fast enough."
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