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Great Secret

<h2 id="id02045" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> <h5 id="id02046">I CHANGE MY NATIONALITY</h5> Guest had never lost his sense of humor. As we left the agent's office and walked down Wellington Street into the Strand, he studied for a few moments my personal appearance, and began to laugh softly. "My friend," he said, "you are wonderful! After all, beauty is but skin deep! Hardross Courage, if I remember rightly, was rather a good-looking fellow. Who would have believed that ready-made clothes from Hamburg, glasses and a beard could work such a change?" I looked down a little disconsolately at my baggy trousers and thick clumsy boots. "It's all very well," I replied; "but you're not exactly a distinguished looking object yourself!" Guest smiled. "I admit it," he answered; "but you must remember that for ten years, since I was kicked out of the diplomatic service in fact, I have studied the art of disguising myself. You, on the contrary, when I first had the pleasure of meeting you, were a somewhat obvious person. Who would have thought that a fortnight on a German steamer and six weeks in Hamburg would have turned you out such a finished article?" "It's these d——d clothes," I answered a little irritably. "They are helpful, certainly," Guest admitted. "Come, let us go and have luncheon chez nous." We turned northwards again towards Soho, and entered presently a small restaurant of foreign appearance. The outside, which had once been painted white, was now more than a little dingy. Greyish-colored muslin blinds were stretched across the front windows. Within, the smell of cooking was all-pervading. A short dark man, with black moustache and urbane smile, greeted us at the door, and led us to a table. "Very good luncheon to-day, sirs," he declared in German. "Hans, hors d'oeuvres to the gentlemen." We seated ourselves, arranged our napkins as Teutons, and ordered beer. Then Guest assumed a mysterious manner. "Business good, eh?" he inquired. "Always good," the head-waiter declared. "We have our regular customers. Always they come!" Guest nodded two or three times. "Heard anything about your new proprietor?" he asked. "Not yet," the man answered. "The nephew of Mr. Muller, who died, lives in Switzerland. A friend of mine has gone over to see him. He will buy the good-will—all the place. It will go on as before." Guest smiled meaningly at me, a smile which was meant to puzzle the waiter. "But," he said, "supposing some one should step in before your friend? Supposing Mr. Muller's nephew should have put this place into the hands of an agent in London, and he should have sold it to some one else! Eh?" For the first time, the man showed signs of genuine uneasiness. His smile suddenly disappeared. He looked at us anxiously. "Mr. Muller's nephew would not do that," he declared. "It was always promised to my friend, if anything should happen to Mr. Muller." Guest smiled cheerfully. "Ah!" he said, "it is unfortunate for your friend, but he will be too late!" "Too late!" the man exclaimed. "Too late!" Guest declared. "I will tell you some news. I have taken over the lease of this restaurant! I have bought the good-will and effects. I have the papers in my pocket." The man was struggling with a more than ordinary discomposure. "You make a joke, sir!" he exclaimed. "The place does not pay well. It is a poor investment. No one would be in such a hurry to take it." Guest was much concerned. "A poor investment!" he exclaimed. "We shall see. I have been in America for many years, my nephew and I here, and I have made a little money. I have bought the place and it must pay!" The expression on the man's face was indescribable. He seemed stricken dumb, as though by some unforeseen calamity. With a half-muttered apology, he left us, and a few moments later we saw him leave the place. Guest looked at me meaningly. "We are right then," he murmured. "I felt sure that I could not be mistaken. This is the place they have made their headquarters. That fellow has gone out to fetch somebody. Soon we shall have some amusement." In less than five minutes the waiter returned, and there followed him through the swing doors a man to whom he turned and pointed us out. This newcomer was of almost aggressively foreign appearance. He wore dark clothes, a soft slouch hat; his black moustaches were waxed and upturned. His complexion was very sallow, and he was in a perspiration, as though with hurrying. He came straight up to us, and bowed politely. "Is it permitted," he asked in German, "that I seat myself at your table? There is a little conversation which I should much like to have with you!" Both Guest and myself rose and returned his bow, and Guest pointed to a seat. "With much pleasure, sir," he answered. "My name is Mayer, and this is my nephew Schmidt. We have just returned from America." More bows. The newcomer was exceedingly polite. "My name," he announced, "is Kauffman. I am resident in London." "My nephew," Guest continued, "has lived in America since he was a boy, and he speaks more readily English!" Mr. Kauffman nodded. "To me," he replied in English, "it is of no consequence. I speak English most. I presume, from what Karl there has told me, that it is your intention to go into the restaurant business in this country." "Exactly," Guest answered. "I have a little money, and my nephew there knows something of the business. The head-waiter told you, perhaps, that I have taken this place." "He did," Mr. Kauffman answered. "It is for that reason that I hurried here. I want to give you good advice. I want you not to lose your money." "Lose my money," Guest repeated anxiously. "No! no! I shall take good care of that. If the books spoke the truth, one does not lose money here! No! indeed. I want to make a little, and then put in my nephew as manager. Myself I should like to go home in a year or two." Mr. Kauffman leaned across the table. He spread out his hands, with their tobacco-stained fingers. He was very much in earnest, and he wished us to realize it. "Mr. Mayer, you will have no money to take back from this place," he declared slowly and emphatically. "On the contrary, you will lose what you have put in. What you saw in the books is all very well, but it proves nothing. Amongst a certain community this place has become a meeting-house. It was to see and talk with old Muller that they came. A social club used to meet here—there is a room out behind, as you know. If a stranger comes here, it will be broken up, his friends will all eat and drink elsewhere!" "But the good-will," Guest declared, "I bought it! I have the receipt here! I have paid good money for it." Mr. Kauffman struck the table with his open hand. "Not worth the paper it is written on, sir!" he exclaimed. "You cannot force the old customers to come. A stranger will lose them all!" "But what am I to do?" Guest asked uneasily. "If what you say is true, I am a ruined man." "I will swear by the Kaiser that it is true," Mr. Kauffman declared. "Now, listen. I will tell you a way not to lose your money. I myself had meant to take over this place. It would have been mine before now, but I never dreamed that any one else would step in. I know all the customers, they are all my friends. I will take it over from you at what you paid for it. No! I will be generous. I will give you a small profit to make up for the time you have wasted." Guest's expression changed. He beamed on the other and adopted a knowing air. "Aha!" he said, "I begin to understand. It is a matter of business this. So you were thinking of taking this restaurant, eh?" Kauffman nodded. "For me it would be a different affair altogether," he said hastily. "I have explained that." Guest still smiled. "I think, Mr. Kauffman," he said, "that I have made a good bargain. I am very much obliged to you, but I think that I shall stick to it!" Mr. Kauffman was silent for several moments. The expression upon his face was not amiable. "I understand," he said at last. "You do not believe me. Yet every word that I have spoken to you is truth. If a stranger becomes proprietor of this restaurant, its business will be ruined." "No! no!" Guest protested. "They will come once to see, and they will remain. The chef, the waiters, I keep them all. There will be no alterations. The social club of which you spoke—they can have their room! I am not inquisitive. I shall never interfere." "Mr. Mayer," Kauffman said, "I will give you fifty pounds for your bargain!" Guest shook his head. "I shall not sell" he answered. "I want my nephew to learn the business, and I want to go home myself soon. I have no time to look out for another." "One hundred!" "I shall not sell," Guest repeated obstinately. "I am sorry if you are disappointed." Mr. Kauffman rose slowly to his feet. "You will be sorry before very long that you refused my offer," he remarked. Guest shook his head. "No!" he said, "I think not. The people will come where they can eat well and eat cheaply. They shall do both here." Kauffman remained for a few more minutes at our table, but he did not return to the subject. After he had left us with a somewhat stiff bow, he went and talked earnestly with Karl, the little head-waiter. Then he slowly returned. "Mr. Mayer," he said, "I'm going to make you a very rash offer. I will give you £200 profit on your bargain." "I am not inclined to sell," Guest said. "One hundred, or two hundred, or five hundred won't tempt me now that my mind is made up." Kauffman left the restaurant without a word. Guest called the waiter to him. "Karl," he said, "do you wish to stay here as head-waiter?" "Certainly, sir," the man answered, a little nervously. "I know most of the customers. But I fear they will not stay." "We shall see," Guest answered. "I am not in a great hurry to make money. I want them to be satisfied, and I want my nephew to be learning the business. You shall do what you can to keep them, Karl, and it will mean money to you. Now about this club! They spend money these members, eh?" "Not much," Karl answered dubiously. "That is bad," Guest declared; "but they must spend more. We will give them good things cheap. What nights do they meet?" "No one knows," Karl answered. "The room is always ready. They pay a small sum for it, and they come when they choose." "H'm!" Guest remarked. "Doesn't sound very profitable. What do they do—sing, talk, or is it business?" "I think," Karl answered slowly, "that it is business." "Well, well!" Guest said, "we are not inquisitive—my nephew and I. Can one see the room?" Karl shook his head. "Not at present," he answered. "Mr. Kauffman has a key, but he is gone." "Ah, well!" Guest remarked, "another time. The bill, Karl! For this morning I shall call myself a guest. This afternoon we will take possession—my nephew and I!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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