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But now, since he had resigned that infatuate ambition and turned apostate to all his vows, his part in character had been to laugh in Wertheimer's face and bid him go to the devil ere a worse thing befall him. Instead of which, he had flown into fury. And as he sat brooding over the wheel, he knew that, were the circumstances to be duplicated, his demeanour would be the same.
He recalled in perplexity how, toward the last, the face of the Englishman had swum in haze before his eyes; with what disfavour, approaching hatred, he had regarded its fixed, false smirk; with what loathing he had suffered the intimacy of Wertheimer's tone; how he had been tempted to fly at the man's throat and shake him senseless in reward of his effrontery: emotions that had suited better a man of unblemished honour and integrity subjected to the insolent addresses of a contemptible blackguard, emotions that might well have been expected of the man Lanyard had once dreamed to become.
I could never count on the faithfulness of a father who did not love his children." Quoted from De Wertheimer's "Duke of Reichstadt," p. 330. See "Memoirs." See "Memoirs." It would be an easy task to enlarge on the excellent qualities of this wonderful man.
"You haven't been thinking of quitting it what?" Wertheimer demanded innocently, opening his eyes wide. "Perhaps..." "Ah, now I begin to see a light! So that's the reason you've come down to tooling a taxi. I wondered! But somehow, Mr. Lanyard" Wertheimer's eyes narrowed thoughtfully "I can hardly see you content with that line... even if this reform notion isn't simple swank!"
Could it be possible that there was really anything substantial at the bottom of Wertheimer's wild yarn about the pretentiously named "International Underworld Unlimited"? Was this really a demonstration of purpose to crush out competition "and hang the expense"? Or was there some less superficially tangible motive to be sought?
Odd, how I dislike that word!" Abruptly the adventurer got to his feet. "By God!" he cried, "I'd better get out of this before I do you an injury!" The door slammed behind him on a room ringing with Wertheimer's unaffected laughter. But why? he asked himself as he swung his cab aimlessly away why that blind rage with which he had welcomed Wertheimer's overtures?
Swiftly the troubled deeps of thought grew calm; on their placid surface inconsequent visions were mirrored darkly, fugitive scenes from the store of subconscious memory: Crane's lantern-jawed physiognomy, keen eyes semi-veiled by humorously drooping lids, the extreme corner of his mouth bulging round his everlasting cigar ... grimy lions in Trafalgar Square of a rainy afternoon ... the octagonal room of L'Abbaye Theleme at three in the morning, a swirl of Bacchanalian shapes ... Wertheimer's soldierly figure beside the telegraphers' table in that noisome cave at the Front ... the deck of a tender in darkness swept by a shaft of yellow light which momentarily revealed a group of folk with upturned faces, a petticoat fluttering in its midst....
But that might more readily have been accomplished by telegraphing or telephoning the Pack's confreres, Wertheimer's associates in England! Lanyard gave it up, admitting his inability to trump up any sane excuse for such conduct; but the riddle continued to fret his mind without respite.
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