First Person Paramount

Title: First Person Paramount

Author: Ambrose Pratt

Illustrator: J. Macfarlane

Release date: April 6, 2011 [eBook #35775] Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35775

Credits: Produced by Andrew Sly, Al Haines and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

SUCCESSFUL NOVELS

By AMBROSE PRATT.

VIGOROUS DAUNT, BILLIONAIRE.

The Newcastle Journal.—"Mr. Ambrose Pratt has with conspicuous success followed up his previous ventures in the world of romance with a tale that for sensation and daring originality goes to the furthermost limit. 'Vigorous Daunt' is an amazing creation."

The Sheffield Telegraph.—"'Vigorous Daunt, Billionaire,' is worthy of a place among the best of its kind. The book is capital reading."

The Scotsman.—"The novel is at once fresh, witty, ingenious, and full of entertainment. In his portrayal of character and the creation of incidents and situations, Mr. Pratt's audacity simply defies criticism; he has given free rein, with literary taste, to a vivacious imagination."

The Dundee Courier.—"If you want innocent excitement read 'Vigorous Daunt.' His wild adventures will make you grasp your chair-arms as you read."

The Hull Weekly News.—"Well written, this book is one that can be well recommended. It is certain to keep the attention and to prove attractive."

JAN DIGBY.

Financial Times.—"The book is written in a clear, lively style, and as the interest is well sustained to the end, it should enhance the author's already considerable reputation."

People's Saturday Journal.—"A tale in no wise lacking in human interest. From the first page to the last the tale grips, and its pleasant humour is well handled and its cynicism will appeal to all who like a breezy tale well told."

The Bristol Times.—"Mr. Ambrose Pratt has given us of the best of his work in this tale. We have not for some time read a novel that interested and held us right through as this has done."

Glasgow Herald.—"The very considerable merit of the story lies in its vivid picture of the resolutely adverse and conflicting forces. Besides illustrating the author's grip of characterization, the story gives fresh evidence of his descriptive vigour and his literary accomplishment."

Northern Whig.—"A tale at once cleverly told and absorbingly interesting throughout. It will appeal to all readers who relish rapid movement and imaginative sweep of a writer who evidently closely observes men and manners."

THE COUNTERSTROKE.

The Daily Telegraph.—"Mr. Pratt is nothing if not startling. In this story he unfolds amazing experiences in such a dauntless and effective manner that he almost succeeds in making such curious and furiously exciting adventures appear to be real."

The Daily Graphic.—"In 'The Counterstroke' the author has surpassed his previous efforts and given us a tale which is daring in its conception and powerful in its narration. From the first page, on which we are introduced to the 'Academy of ex-Ambassadors' and Mr. Perigord, their mysterious master, down to the last, the book never loses its hold upon the reader."

Dundee Advertiser.—"Ambrose Pratt is to be heartily congratulated on the imaginary gifts and the marvellous ingenuity displayed in his book. It is one of absorbing interest, and the reader pursues with almost breathless eagerness the many and varied experiences of Lord Francis Crossingham, the brave hero of the book."

The People's Journal.—"There have been many Nihilist novels written, but few which contain the grip and strength of Mr. Ambrose Pratt's story. His plot is daring to a degree. It is worked out with an ingenuity which cannot but appeal to all those readers who like a cleverly-constructed romance in which the interest is kept up to the end."

The Evening News.—"A novel never to be forgotten."

Belfast Northern Whig.—"A story which keeps the reader absorbed all the time."

The Dublin Daily Express.—"A novel which should be eagerly read, and anyone who reads it will look eagerly for further books from Mr. Pratt's pen."

The Newcastle Chronicle.—"Tremendously exciting."

Southport Visitor.—"Crowded with incident, is full of excitement, and abounds in dramatic and delicate situations."

Leeds Mercury.—"Written in vigorous and dashing style, the story will certainly commend itself to a wide circle of readers."

FIRST PERSON PARAMOUNT

"In another second I had him by the throat." (Page 189)

FIRST PERSON PARAMOUNT

BY

AMBROSE PRATT

AUTHOR OF "VIGOROUS DAUNT: BILLIONAIRE," ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY J. MACFARLANE

LONDON WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED 1908

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

The House in Curzon Street

CHAPTER II

The Foundation of a Fortune

CHAPTER III

The Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives

CHAPTER IV

The Operation

CHAPTER V

The Campaign Opens

CHAPTER VI

A Battle of Wits

CHAPTER VII

A Dream of Love

CHAPTER VIII

Torture

CHAPTER IX

"The Anglo-American Hotels, Limited"

CHAPTER X

The House among the Pines

FIRST PERSON PARAMOUNT

I

THE HOUSE IN CURZON STREET

My name is Agar Hume. My mother died when I was two years old. My father was the first violin in a second-rate music hall orchestra at Birmingham. He had once been a gentleman. He taught me French and how to play the flute. Between whiles he treated me like a dog. He wished me to become a member of his orchestra. My tastes, however, inclined to the stage. From early childhood I had possessed an almost perfect talent for mimicry. When I was nineteen years old, there was not an artist I had ever seen whom I could not represent to the life. One morning, about that time, in a fit of drunken rage my father gave me a terrible beating. I was then somewhat undersized—the result of irregular meals and bad food. I could neither retaliate nor defend myself. That night, as soon as my father had set off for the theatre, I ran away from home. I walked to Liverpool, and easily obtained employment at a music hall, where for three years I nightly imitated every actor and person of note whom the Liverpudlians wished to see. They grew tired of me at last and ceased to applaud my turn.

I was promptly discharged by the management. Not caring to return to Birmingham, as my father had never forgiven me for deserting him, I made my way to London. I had saved a little money, and I thought that before it was spent I should procure a new engagement. The London market, however, was simply glutted with mimics, and before three months had passed I was penniless and still without a place. I haunted the theatres and employment agencies to no purpose. I was obliged to pawn my wardrobe, and at last a day came when I stood in the Strand owning nothing in the world but the suit of decent black I wore and my make-up box, which I carried in my hand because I had been turned out of my lodging-house that morning. I had not tasted food for four-and-twenty hours. I mentioned the latter fact ten minutes later to the manager of the next employment agency I visited. He had seen me so often that he knew me well, and he sympathized with my misfortune.

"Look here," said he, "if you are so hard up as all that, your only hope is to try your hand at something else. There is no chance for you at the theatres."

"I'm ready to turn boot-black!" I assured him.

"Well, well," said he, "a client of ours inquired yesterday for a valet. If you are really willing to put your pride in your pocket, I shall personally recommend you."

"I have no pride," I answered, "but I have also no experience."

He gave me a pitying smile. "Certainly not, but I believe that you are hungry—you look it!"

I was so hungry indeed that I thanked him warmly, and a few minutes afterwards I was walking as fast as I could towards Piccadilly with a letter in my pocket which bore the following address:—"Sir William Dagmar, Bart., 22a Curzon Street."

It was a small two-storied house, but it looked good, and I raised the knocker tremblingly.

A footman opened the door, to whom I gave my precious letter. He was civil because my clothes were well cut, and because I have the appearance of a gentleman. He invited me to a seat in an anteroom, and went off with my letter. When he returned, he carried his nose in the air, and his bearing was unaffectedly contemptuous.

"Huh!" he sniffed. "Step this way, but wipe your shoes on that mat first, please!"

I obeyed. He led me to a room on the first floor, opened the second door and announced in an oily voice

"The valet—Sir William."

Had I been a man of pride, I should have felt offended. As it was I walked into the room quite undisturbed, and with the most respectful mien I was able to assume.

The door closed behind me. The walls of the room, which was a large one, were piled from floor to ceiling with books, which ran in long straggling tiers, on shelves of carven oak. Books littered the carpet about the bases of the shelves. Rows of books lying one upon another, were heaped upon an immense table that occupied the centre of the room. Dust covered the books. A revolving bookcase crammed with books stood beside the chair upon which Sir William Dagmar sat. The apartment resembled, except for its air of general untidiness, nothing so much as a corner in the British Museum library. It possessed no windows, and was lighted from the roof like a gallery of pictures. I am a keenly observant man by nature, and from a lad I had persistently developed my peculiar faculty for the sake of my profession. At that time it was only necessary for me to glance at a place, person or thing in order to photograph its character and details on my mind. A second after I entered the room I looked at Sir William, but I had already said to myself: "A book-worm!"

So he appeared, and nothing to my surprise. He was of middle size and age. His features were regular and even handsome. His complexion was yellow and bloodless. He possessed a broad rather high forehead, and a large head covered with a mass of stubbly iron-grey hair. His nose was long and straight. His chin was a trifle weak. He was clean shaven. The key to his face was his mouth. It was large and sensitive. It had a trick of screwing itself up at the corners, and sending the upper lip into a curl of sneering querulousness, which I immediately experienced an itch to imitate. His teeth were long, even and very white, but the right incisor was lacking, and this circumstance made his voice sound slightly sibilant. His eyes were grey like my own, but they were set deeper in his head, and the man had twice my weight of years stooping his narrow shoulders.

He regarded me appraisingly. "I need a valet," he began. His voice was querulous like his mouth.

"Yes, sir," said I.

"You are recommended by Mr. Bray. You look young—rather too young. Why did you leave your last place?"

"My employer could not afford to keep me any longer. I was with him for three years, sir."

"Show me your references."

I had expected that demand. "I gave them to Mr. Bray, sir," I answered glibly. "Did he not send them on to you? He said he would enclose them in his letter!"

Sir William shook his head, and a bored look crept into his eyes. "I suppose they are all right," he muttered wearily. "I like your voice; it is soft. If you want to please me never raise it. My head aches very easily."

"I shall remember, sir," I answered in my mildest accents.

"When could you commence your duties?"

"At once, sir."

He raised his eyebrows, then nodded languidly.

"Very well. I shall give you a trial. Your wages will be £5 a month and your keep. Butts, the footman, will show you to your room and explain my ways to you. I shall ring when I require you."

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way, Bray writes me that your name is Agar Hume. I dislike it. Once upon a time I had a friend named Hume. I shall call you Brown."

"Very good, sir."

I backed out of the room, and as I half expected found the footman in the passage. His air of defiant indifference informed me that he had been listening through the keyhole. He was an owlish looking creature, but there were garrulous wrinkles about his eyes and lips which determined me to treat him civilly.

"Sir William has engaged me, Mr. Butts," I said in a low voice. "Will you be good enough to show me to my room. I am to start work at once."

"You won't stay here long," he mumbled as he tip-toed off. "They never do."

I had no intention of staying one day longer than I could help. But I did not confide the fact to Butts. As I followed him my one thought was to get my hands on food as soon as possible. I was desperately hungry. He took me upstairs to an attic room at the back of the house. It was small, but well lighted and clean, also it smelt of lavender. It contained a deal wardrobe with a full length mirror, a truckle bed, a dressing table and a wash stand. There was also a carpet on the floor. I felt pleased, but I was famished.

"Here you hare!" growled Butts.

I put down my make-up box, and faced him.

"I should like to be friends with you, Mr. Butts," I said. "I dare say we shall be cast a good deal in each other's company. What do you say?" I offered him my hand.

He grinned and took it. My apparent ingenuousness had melted him at once. He was not a bad hearted fellow, it seemed.

"All right," he said. "What's yer name?"

"Brown."

"What did yer think of 'im," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"A book-worm, isn't he—but what do you say if we discuss him over a glass of beer and some bread and cheese?"

"Good!" said Butts, and with an alacrity that delighted me, he led the way by the servants' staircase to the pantry on the ground floor. For beer, however, he gave me port wine, and for bread and cheese a cold partridge.

"You seem to live well here," I commented with my mouth full.

"So so!" answered Butts with a sigh. "Tucker's all right—but it's so cursed lonely. Master never goes out, except to meals, and it's very seldom he hever has any company here, honly about once a month."

"Oh! a bit of a hermit, eh?"

"A bloomin' misanthrope—that's what I call him! He 'ates noise like poison. Hif I was to drop a plate 'e'd ring to know what the devil I meant by it?"

"Married?"

"No. He 'ates women wors'n noise, I believe."

"How does he pass his time?"

"Reads all day—half the night too."

"What does he want with a valet, then?"

"You'll soon find out," said Butts with a snort of contempt.

"Please tell me."

Butts wagged his head. "Bar shavin' him you won't 'ave much to do, 'cept give him his medicines at the proper hours. He's a sick man is Sir William Dagmar! The last valet 'e had here, Joe Bates, was a real smart un he was. He'd done for Lord X—— and Mr. Francis, and a lot more tip-toppers. He was just celebrated for fixing hevenin' dress ties; and Sir William always wears ready made ones to save trouble. Bates got the miserables in a week, an' hup an' cleared out before the fortnight was up."

"What is the matter with Sir William?"

"Consumption! He's got it bad!"

"Oh! is he rich?"

"Rich as Croesus."

"Any relatives?"

"A cousin he 'ates wors'n noise and wors'n women. A young chap name o' Sefton Dagmar. He's heir to the title, but I'm not thinkin' he'll get much o' the splosh. Sir William's got it all in Government bonds and he can leave it as he likes."

"What is this Sefton Dagmar like?"

"Not a bad sort. He's always haffable enough to me. He lives at Newhaven, but he calls here once in a while to see how Sir William is. But he hardly ever sees him. Hi! there's master's bell—I'll be back in a minute."

As soon as Butts had disappeared I gave my appetite free rein and a very hearty meal I made. He was absent a quarter of an hour, and on his return he wore a look of annoyance. "Nuisance!" he began. "He's halways worriting about this time. He's goin' to give a dinner party to-morrow night. He gives one every month. But he wants you! Hurry up, he 'ates to be kep waitin'."

I was up the stairs in a twinkle, and again standing before Sir William. He looked bored to death.

"Some gentlemen will dine with me to-morrow night, Brown," he drawled. "Six in all. Their names are on this paper, and their table places marked. I wish you to serve—Butts is a clumsy waiter."

I received the paper with a deferential bow. "Very good, sir!" I murmured.

"You will also see that card tables are arranged in the smoking room. Butts will order the dinner, he knows my ways. But you will take charge of the arrangements. You seem a capable young fellow."

"Thank you, sir!"

"And Brown," he frowned heavily.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't fill my glass too often. I am an invalid, you know, and wine does not agree with me. That is all. I shall not want you again until seven o'clock this evening, when you may dress me for dinner!"

Butts and I studied the paper that Sir William had given me, with the greatest attention. I soon gathered that the six gentlemen who were to dine with my master were not members of the smart set of society such as Butts called "tip-toppers," but men of intellectual attainment, and leaders of thought, if not of fashion. Butts knew them all. "They belong to Sir William's club, the 'Athenian,'" he remarked. "This here Sir Charles Venner who's to take the seat of honour is a cove what cuts up dead dogs and such like while they are alive."

"A vivisectionist?" I asked smiling.

"Don't know what you call 'em," responded Butts. "But he's doctor, and so is Mr. Fulton, who is to sit opposite on master's left. The next chap on the right—Luke Humphreys—is a hauthor, on political economy. Mr. Husband is the chap who wrote that article in the National Review on the weakness of the Navy, which kicked up such a blessed fuss a while since. You must have heard of him?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, George Cavanagh is an artist and a R.A. Master has one of his pictures in the dining room—you'll see it presently: a naked woman with a chap—'Love and Death' it's called."

I had much ado not to laugh outright. "I've seen prints of it," I muttered. "Who is the last, Mr. Nevil Pardoe, Butts?"

"He's a playwright," answered Butts with a sigh. "They're playin' one of his pieces now at the Kensington Theatre. I went there the other night and got my pocket picked for my trouble." He kicked over a chair as he spoke, as if carried away by temper in remembering his misfortune. The bell rang on instant. "Oh, Lor!" groaned Butts. "I'm in for it again, that man has the ears of a mole!"

He came back a few minutes later looking very sour. "Called me a clod hopper!" he growled in a low voice. "He's got a reptile tongue. But come upstairs, Brown, and I'll show you his bedroom—an' where he keeps his clothes an' things!"

It was an immense apartment, magnificently furnished. But it was very untidy and medicine bottles, some full, some empty, crowded the mantelpiece and dressing tables. The place smelt like a druggist's store. "I'll clear that rubbish away first thing," I declared. But the footman seized my arm as I caught up the first bottle. "He'd go ravin' stark starin' mad if one of them was shifted," he cried. "Don't you touch 'em, lad."

I shrugged my shoulders, and watched Butts ransack our master's wardrobe, he explaining to me the while certain preferences in matters of taste and dress which Sir William had always manifested. It appeared that he detested colours. All his suits were black, also his boots and gloves.

"You seem to know him so well, Butts," I remarked at last, "that I wonder more and more why he has not made you his valet."

"It's my haccent!" sighed Butts. "He can't abear it. Whenever I drop a haitch, in his 'earing, he shrivels up."

During the afternoon I borrowed half a sovereign from Butts, and purchased some fresh linen.