Mark Twain's Medieval Romance (38 page)

It may be that this was the sort of episode that led to the trouble that followed, or it may be that Raymond acted out of the most innocent and aesthetic motives possible. But, whatever the motives, the results were inevitable and dangerous.

They grew from the project Raymond outlined for us in great detail one afternoon. Now that he was living in the Dane house he had discovered that it was too big, too overwhelming. “Like a museum,” he explained. “I find myself wandering through it like a lost soul through endless galleries.”

The grounds also needed landscaping. The ancient trees were handsome, but, as Raymond put it, there were just too many of them. “Literally,” he said, “I cannot see the river for the trees, and I am one devoted to the sight of running water.”

Altogether there would be drastic changes. Two wings of the house would come down, the trees would be cleared away to make a broad aisle to the water, the whole place would be enlivened. It would no longer be a museum, but the perfect home he had envisioned over the years.

At the start of this recitative Hugh was slouched comfortably in his chair. Then as Raymond drew the vivid picture of what was to be, Hugh sat up straighter and straighter until he was as rigid as a trooper in the saddle. His lips compressed. His face became blood-red. His hands clenched and unclenched in a slow deadly-rhythm. Only a miracle was restraining him from an open outburst, and it was not the kind of miracle to last. I saw from Elizabeth’s expression that she understood this, too, but was as helpless as I to do anything about it. And when Raymond, after painting the last glowing strokes of his description, said complacently, “Well, now, what do you think?” there was no holding Hugh.

He leaned forward with deliberation and said, “Do you really want to know what I think?”

“Now, Hugh,” Elizabeth said in alarm. “Please, Hugh—”

He brushed that aside.

“Do you really want to know?” he demanded of Raymond.

Raymond frowned. “Of course.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Hugh said. He took a deep breath. “I think that nobody but a damned iconoclast could even conceive the atrocity you’re proposing. I think you’re one of those people who take pleasure in smashing apart anything that’s stamped with tradition or stability. You’d kick the props from under the whole world if you could!”

“I beg your pardon,” Raymond said. He was very pale and angry. “But I think you are confusing change with destruction. Surely, you must comprehend that I do not intend to destroy anything, but only wish to make some necessary changes.”

“Necessary?” Hugh gibed. “Rooting up a fine stand of trees that’s been there for centuries? Ripping apart a house that’s as solid as a rock?
I
call it wanton destruction.”

“I’m afraid I do not understand. To refresh a scene, to reshape it—”

“I have no intention of arguing,” Hugh cut in. “I’m telling you straight out that you don’t have the right to tamper with that property!”

They were on their feet now, facing each other truculently, and the only thing that kept me from being really frightened was the conviction that Hugh would not become violent, and that Raymond was far too level-headed to lose his temper. Then the threatening moment was magically past. Raymond’s lips suddenly quirked in amusement, and he studied Hugh with courteous interest.

“I see,” he said. “I was quite stupid not to have understood at once. This property, which, I remarked, was a little too much like a museum, is to remain that way, and I am to be its custodian. A caretaker of the past, one might say, a curator of its relics.

He shook his head smilingly. “But I am afraid I am not quite suited to that role. I lift my hat to the past, it is true, but I prefer to court the present. For that reason I will go ahead with my plans, and hope they do not make an obstacle to our friendship.”

I
REMEMBER THINKING,
when I left next day for the city and a long, hot week at my desk, that Raymond had carried off the affair very nicely, and that, thank God, it had gone no further than it did. So I was completely unprepared for Elizabeth’s call at the end of the week.

It was awful, she said. It was the business of Hugh and Raymond and the Dane house, but worse than ever. She was counting on my coming down to Hilltop the next day; there couldn’t be any question about that. She had planned a way of clearing up the whole thing, but I simply had to be there to back her up. After all, I was one of the few people Hugh would listen to, and she was depending on me.

“Depending on me for what?” I said. I didn’t like the sound of it. “And as for Hugh listening to me, Elizabeth, isn’t that stretching it a good deal? I can’t see him wanting my advice on his personal affairs.”

“If you’re going to be touchy about it—”

“I’m
not
touchy about it,” I retorted. “I just don’t like getting mixed up in this thing. Hugh’s quite capable of taking care of himself.”

“Maybe too capable.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Oh, I can’t explain now,” she wailed. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. And, darling, if you have any brotherly feelings you’ll be here on the morning train. Believe me, it’s serious.”

I arrived on the morning train in a bad state. My imagination is one of the overactive kind that can build a cosmic disaster out of very little material, and by the time I arrived at the house I was prepared for almost anything.

But, on the surface, at least, all was serene. Hugh greeted me warmly, Elizabeth was her cheerful self, and we had an amiable lunch and a long talk which never came near the subject of Raymond or the Dane house. I said nothing about Elizabeth’s phone call, but thought of it with a steadily growing sense of outrage until I was alone with her.

“Now,” I said, “I’d like an explanation of all this mystery. The Lord knows what I expected to find out here, but it certainly wasn’t anything I’ve seen so far. And I’d like some accounting for the bad time you’ve given me since that call.”

“All right,” she said grimly, “and that’s what you’ll get. Come along.”

She led the way on a long walk through the gardens and past the stables and outbuildings. Near the private road which lay beyond the last grove of trees she suddenly said, “When the car drove you up to the house didn’t you notice anything strange about this road?”

“No, I didn’t,”

“I suppose not. The driveway to the house turns off too far away from here. But now you’ll have a chance to see for yourself.”

I did see for myself. A chair was set squarely in the middle of the road and on the chair sat a stout man placidly reading a magazine. I recognized the man at once: he was one of Hugh’s stable hands, and he had the patient look of someone who has been sitting for a long time and expects to sit a good deal longer. It took me only a second to realize what he was there for, but Elizabeth wasn’t leaving anything to my deductive powers. When we walked over to him, the man stood up and grinned at us.

“William,” Elizabeth said, “would you mind telling my brother what instructions Mr. Lozier gave you?”

“Sure,” the man said cheerfully. “Mr. Lozier told us there was always supposed to be one of us sitting right here, and any truck we saw that might be carrying construction stuff or suchlike for the Dane house was to be stopped and turned back. All we had to do was tell them it’s private property and they were trespassing. If they laid a finger on us we just call in the police. That’s the whole thing.”

“Have you turned back any trucks?” Elizabeth asked for my benefit.

The man looked surprised. “Why, you know that, Mrs. Lozier,” he said. “There was a couple of them the first day we were out here, and that was all. There wasn’t any fuss either,” he explained to me. “None of those drivers wants to monkey with trespass.”

When we were away from the road again I clapped my hand to my forehead, “It’s incredible!” I said. “Hugh must know he can’t get away with this. That road is the only one to the Dane place, and it’s been in public use so long that it isn’t even a private thoroughfare anymore!”

Elizabeth nodded. “And that’s exactly what Raymond told Hugh a few days back. He came over here in a fury, and they had quite an argument about it. And when Raymond said something about hauling Hugh off to court. Hugh answered that he’d be glad to spend the rest of his life in litigation over this business. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The last thing Raymond said was that Hugh ought to know that force only invites force, and ever since then I’ve been expecting a war to break out here any minute. Don’t you see? That man blocking the road is a constant provocation, and it scares me.”

I could understand that. And the more I considered the matter, the more dangerous it looked.

“But I have a plan,” Elizabeth said eagerly, “and that’s why I wanted you here. I’m having a dinner party tonight, a very small, informal dinner party. It’s to be a sort of peace conference. You’ll be there, and Dr. Wynant— Hugh likes you both a great deal—and,” she hesitated, “Raymond.”

“No!” I said. “You mean he’s actually coming?”

“I went over to see him yesterday and we had a long talk. I explained everything to him—about neighbors being able to sit down and come to an understanding, and about brotherly love and—oh, it must have sounded dreadfully inspirational and sticky, but it worked. He said he would be there.”

I had a foreboding. “Does Hugh know about this?”

“About the dinner? Yes.”

“I mean, about Raymond’s being here.”

“No, he doesn’t.” And then when she saw me looking hard at her, she burst out defiantly with, “Well,
something
had to be done, and I did it, that’s all! Isn’t it better than just sitting and waiting for God knows what?”

Until we were all seated around the dining room table that evening I might have conceded the point. Hugh had been visibly shocked by Raymond’s arrival, but then, apart from a sidelong glance at Elizabeth which had volumes written in it, he managed to conceal his feelings well enough. He had made the introductions gracefully, kept up his end of the conversation and, all in all, did a creditable job of playing host.

Ironically, it was the presence of Dr. Wynant which made even this much of a triumph possible for Elizabeth, and which then turned it into disaster. The doctor was an eminent surgeon, stocky and gray-haired, with an abrupt, positive way about him. Despite his own position in the world he seemed pleased as a schoolboy to meet Raymond, and in no time at all they were as thick as thieves.

It was when Hugh discovered during dinner that nearly all attention was fixed on Raymond and very little on himself that the mantle of good host started to slip, and the fatal flaws in Elizabeth’s plan showed through. There are people who enjoy entertaining lions and who take pleasure in reflected glory, but Hugh was not one of them. Besides, he regarded the doctor as one of his closest friends, and I have noticed that it is the most assured of men who can be the most jealous of their friendships. And when a prized friendship is being impinged on by the man one loathes more than anything else in the world—! All in all, by simply imagining myself in Hugh’s place and looking across the table at Raymond who was gaily and unconcernedly holding forth, I was prepared for the worst.

The opportunity for it came to Hugh when Raymond was deep in a discussion of the devices used in affecting escapes. They were innumerable, he said. Almost anything one could seize on would serve as such a device. A wire, a scrap of metal, even a bit of paper—at one time or another he had used them all.

“But of them all,” he said with a sudden solemnity, “there is only one I would stake my life on. Strange, it is one you cannot see cannot hold in your hand—in fact, for many people it does not even exist. Yet it is the one I have used most often and which has never failed me.”

The doctor leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest. “And it is—?”

“It is a knowledge of people, my friend. Or, as it may be put, a knowledge of human nature. To me it is as vital an instrument as the scalpel is to you.”

“Oh?” said Hugh, and his voice was so sharp that all eyes were instantly turned on him. “You make sleight of hand sound like a department of psychology.”

“Perhaps,” Raymond said, and I saw he was watching Hugh now, gauging him. “You see there is no great mystery in the matter. My profession—my art, as I like to think of it—is no more than the art of misdirection, and I am but one of its many practitioners.”

“I wouldn’t say there were many escape artists around nowadays,” the doctor remarked.

“True,” Raymond said, “but you will observe I referred to the art of misdirection. The escape artist, the master of legerdemain, these are a handful who practice the most exotic form of that art. But what of those who engage in the work of politics, of advertising, of salesmanship?” He laid his finger along his nose in the familiar gesture, and winked. “I am afraid they have all made my art their business.”

The doctor smiled. “Since you haven’t dragged medicine into it I’m willing to go along with you,” he said. “But what I want to know is, exactly how does this knowledge of human nature work in your profession?”

“In this way,” Raymond said. “One must judge a person carefully. Then, if he finds in that person certain weaknesses he can state a false premise and it will be accepted without question. Once the false premise is swallowed, the rest is easy. The victim will then see only what the magician wants him to see, or will give his vote to that politician, or will buy merchandise because of that advertising.” He shrugged. “And that is all there is to it.”

“Is it?” Hugh said. “But what happens when you’re with people who have some intelligence and won’t swallow your false premise? How do you do your tricks then? Or do you keep them on the same level as selling beads to the savages?”

“Now that’s uncalled for, Hugh,” the doctor said. “The man’s expressing his ideas. No reason to make an issue of them.”

“Maybe there is,” Hugh said, his eyes fixed on Raymond. “I have found he’s full of interesting ideas. I was wondering how far he’d want to go in backing them up.”

Raymond touched the napkin to his lips with a precise little flick, and then laid it carefully on the table before him. “In short,” he said, addressing himself to Hugh, “you want a small demonstration of my art.”