Waiting, I strolled to the rear of the hall.And then, through an open window that let in the summer, I saw for the first time that courtyard which is my great love in London - the old ivy-covered walls of brick; the neat paths between the blooming beds; the rustic seat; the magic gate.It was incredible that just outside lay the world's biggest city, with all its poverty and wealth, its sorrows and joys, its roar and rattle.Here was a garden for Jane Austen to people with fine ladies and courtly gentlemen - here was a garden to dream in, to adore and to cherish.
When Walters came back to tell me that his wife was uncertain as to the exact date when the captain would return, I began to rave about that courtyard.At once he was my friend.I had been looking for quiet lodgings away from the hotel, and I was delighted to find that on the second floor, directly under the captain' s rooms, there was a suite to be sublet.
Walters gave me the address of the agents; and, after submitting to an examination that could not have been more severe if I had asked for the hand of the senior partner's daughter, they let me come here to live.The garden was mine!
And the captain? Three days after I arrived I heard above me, for the first time, the tread of his military boots.Now again my courage began to fail.I should have preferred to leave Archie's letter lying in my desk and know my neighbor only by his tread above me.I felt that perhaps I had been presumptuous in coming to live in the same house with him.But I had represented myself to Walters as an acquaintance of the captain's and the caretaker had lost no time in telling me that "my friend" was safely home.
So one night, a week ago, I got up my nerve and went to the captain's rooms.I knocked.He called to me to enter and I stood in his study, facing him.He was a tall handsome man, fair-haired, mustached - the very figure that you, my lady, in your boarding-school days, would have wished him to be.His manner, Iam bound to admit, was not cordial.
"Captain," I began, "I am very sorry to intrude - " It wasn't the thing to say, of course, but I was fussed."However, I happen to be a neighbor of yours, and I have here a letter of introduction from your cousin, Archibald Enwright.I met him in Interlaken and we became very good friends.""Indeed!" said the captain.
He held out his hand for the letter, as though it were evidence at a court-martial.1 passed it over, wishing I hadn't come.He read it through.It was a long letter, considering its nature.While Iwaited, standing by his desk - he hadn't asked me to sit down - Ilooked about the room.It was much like my own study, only I think a little dustier.Being on the third floor it was farther from the The captain turned back and began to read the letter again.This was decidedly embarrassing.Glancing down, I happened to see on his desk an odd knife, which I fancy he had brought from India.
The blade was of steel, dangerously sharp, the hilt of gold, carved to represent some heathen figure.
Then the captain looked up from Archie's letter and his cold gaze fell full upon me.
"My dear fellow," he said, "to the best of my knowledge, I have no cousin named Archibald Enwright."A pleasant situation, you must admit! It's bad enough when you come to them with a letter from their mother, but here was I in this Englishman's rooms, boldly flaunting in his face a warm note of commendation from a cousin who did not exist!
"I owe you an apology," I said.I tried to be as haughty as he, and fell short by about two miles."I brought the letter in good faith.""No doubt of that," he answered.
"Evidently it was given me by some adventurer for purposes of his own," I went on; "though I am at a loss to guess what they could have been.""I'm frightfully sorry - really," said he.But he said it with the London inflection, which plainly implies: "I'm nothing of the sort."A painful pause.I felt that he ought to give me back the letter;but he made no move to do so.And, of course, I didn't ask for it.
"Ah - er - good night," said I and hurried toward the door.
"Good night," he answered, and I left him standing there with Archie's accursed letter in his hand.
That is the story of how I came to this house in Adelphi Terrace.
There is mystery in it, you must admit, my lady.Once or twice since that uncomfortable call I have passed the captain on the stairs; but the halls are very dark, and for that I am grateful.
I hear him often above me; in fact, I hear him as I write this.
Who was Archie? What was the idea? I wonder.
Ah, well, I have my garden, and for that I am indebted to Archie the garrulous.It is nearly midnight now.The roar of London has died away to a fretful murmur, and somehow across this baking town a breeze has found its way.It whispers over the green grass, in the ivy that climbs my wall, in the soft murky folds of my curtains.Whispers - what?
Whispers, perhaps, the dreams that go with this, the first of my letters to you.They are dreams that even I dare not whisper yet.
And so - good night.
THE STRAWBERRY MAN.
