Ways and Means (12 page)
‘How d’you like that, Inspector?’
‘I don’t like it at all,’ said the inspector, ‘and it is quite unjustifiable as a general comment. Mind you, I’m not saying that there aren’t a few black sheep in the police who occasionally do things like that, but there are black sheep in every profession, even among artists and pool promoters, if you’ll forgive me saying so.’
‘Fair enough, Inspector. I’m glad you have a sense of humour. You’ll like some of these pictures. Would you care to have a walk round. Just look at this one.’
He showed the inspector a picture of an open mouth. It was called
So I said
.
‘The late George Beicher,’ said Nicholas, ‘couldn’t have drawn a clearer picture of the scene. Look at that mouth. It obviously goes up and down all day almost automatically, stopping only for sleep, and even then it probably remains open. How d’you like this one?’
He showed him the picture of an ear.
Quick, under the bed
, it was called. ‘Or this,’ he went on and pointed at a picture of some pointed finger-nails with wicked sharp points.
Darling
was the title.
‘Mr Drewe,’ said the inspector, ‘I find this very interesting and I’m glad you appear cooperative. At any rate, I shall be able to report to the Commissioner that this new art has some meaning.’
‘Perhaps you paint yourself, Inspector?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I do a little in my spare time. Nothing very much, you know. Just a hobby.’
‘Why don’t you submit something to us? I’m sure that with your experience you could produce something good. What about a couple of feet —
D’you know your car has been here for the lost hour and a half.?
’
‘It’s an idea,’ said the inspector. ‘Thank you very much. Now, if we may get down to business. Are you prepared to give me some figures?’
‘Certainly.’
‘What is your average weekly turnover?’
‘Well — it’s going up all the time. But last week it was £150,000.’
‘How much of that is paid by people who never come to see the pictures?’
‘Difficult to say, but a good deal.’
‘Would you say more than half?’
‘Oh yes, I should think so.’
The inspector paused for a moment. He had learned without difficulty all he had been sent to find out, but he didn’t want to make this appear too obvious.
‘You’ve made a remarkable success, Mr Drewe.’
‘Yes, we have been lucky.’
‘D’you sell many of the pictures?’
‘Nearly all of them now. D’you want to buy one? I can let you have that one fairly cheap.’ He pointed to two hands, obviously those of a surgeon, entitled
No swabs left in this time Sister?
‘I can let you have it for twenty-five guineas.’
‘No, thank you,’ said the inspector, ‘but I hope you may be able to sell my pair of feet for as much.’
‘I expect so. Perhaps your museum at the Yard would buy it.’
After a little further conversation, the inspector left.
A few weeks later Drewe’s Galleries Ltd and Nicholas and Petula, the directors, were summoned for conducting a lottery and, in due course, the summons came on for hearing at Marlborough Street Magistrate’s Court. The case made for the prosecution was that the bulk of the competitors had no opportunity for showing skill because they never saw the pictures.
‘Most people who do football pools,’ replied Nicholas, ‘don’t see any of the matches.’
‘But they can read about them in the papers,’ said the magistrate. ‘They can see the form of the teams and so forth.’
‘You won’t think me impertinent, I hope,’ said Nicholas, ‘but have you tried, your Worship? You can do as well with a pin.’
‘I am not prepared to discuss football pool competitions, which are perfectly legal. You have to show me that there is some element of skill in your competition.’
‘A large number of competitors see the pictures.’
‘But only a minority.’
‘The others can read about them in the Press.’
‘Are there reproductions of the pictures in the papers?’
‘No, but they’re referred to by name and description in some papers. As a matter of fact, they’re almost as amusing to describe as to see.’
‘Not a great compliment to the artists.’
‘I only said amusing. Naturally, the artistic work has to be seen to be appreciated. But the competitor who doesn’t see them can exercise his judgement as to what will amuse the public most. For instance, sitting in this Court this morning, an idea came to me which I shall give to one of my artists. A picture of a nose with pince-nez on it entitled
Forty shillings.
’
‘I see your point,’ said the magistrate. ‘I don’t think this is at all an easy matter and I shall reserve my decision. You will be notified of the date when I shall give it.’
‘Well,’ said Basil that afternoon, ‘if the worst comes to the worst, we shan’t have done so badly. I wonder one of the big pool promoters hasn’t tried to buy us out. We might make a serious inroad on football pools when the season starts.’
At that moment there was a knock on the door. It was a stranger. ‘My name is Vulgan. I want to see Mr Drewe.’
‘Come in,’ said Basil, ‘we’ve been expecting you.’
‘Expecting me?’ said Mr Vulgan. ‘How is that? I never wrote or telephoned.’
‘You are Vulgan’s Pools, I presume?’
‘I am.’
‘I was just saying that we expected you to come and buy us out.’
‘I see. Well, I shouldn’t have come if you hadn’t been prosecuted. You’d have wanted too much.’
‘Well,’ said Nicholas, ‘what’s your suggestion?’
‘You may get closed up and you may not. If you lose, you’re finished; if you win, you seem on the way to a fortune. Why not lay it off. Sell it lock, stock, and barrel to me for a reasonable price. Even if you win, the case may go higher. Keep out of litigation, I say. What about £50,000?’
‘A hundred,’ said Basil.
‘Seventy-five.’
‘A hundred.’
‘You won’t be worth anything if you lose.’
‘You’ll be worth a lot less if we win.’
‘Eighty.’
‘A hundred.’
‘You’re very obstinate.’
‘We can afford to be. If we’re wound up, it’s just too bad. We’ve done quite nicely so far and can take the risk unless you give us what we ask.’
‘You’re not Mr Drewe, are you? This other gentleman is the one whose picture I’ve seen in the papers.’
‘That’s right. But we’re all interested together. I’m more or less a sleeping partner.’
‘Ninety, then.’
Basil looked at Nicholas. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘ninety-five it is.’
‘Done,’ said Mr Vulgan. ‘Now let’s get down to details. What I want at once are the names and addresses of your clients. I’ve got the coupons all printed.’
‘But you don’t know our next week’s pictures.’
‘Pictures? Pictures? What d’you take me for? I’m not running pictures. Whatever the result of your case, pictures are no good. They wouldn’t last. No, I’m starting something really good — something that will just suit the public — and no risk of it being called a lottery.’
‘May we ask what?’
‘You certainly may. Basutoland hockey matches.’
As soon as the deal had been concluded, Mr Vulgan communicated with the solicitors for the Commissioner of Police and, as a result of what he said, a conference was held between them and Mr Vulgan’s solicitors. It was finally agreed that, on Mr Vulgan’s undertaking to give up the picture pool, the magistrate should be asked to allow the prosecution to be withdrawn without giving a decision. From the Commissioner’s point of view an acquittal might have resulted in a flood of fraudulent picture pools, while a conviction was unnecessary in view of Mr Vulgan’s undertaking. The magistrate was quite relieved at not being called upon to give a decision, and he saw no reason why he should do so in the public interest. The prosecution was accordingly withdrawn by leave. Nicholas distributed a substantial quantity of the net profits of the enterprise among the artists who had contributed pictures, Mr Simon Plant getting, of course, the biggest share.
A few weeks afterwards Basil and Elizabeth walked into the Markwell Galleries. Elizabeth had a new hat, a new dress, and a real pearl necklace. Mr Bronck greeted them.
‘I think I have what you want,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ said Basil, ‘how did you guess?’
‘You told me. Some fingers or a whole hand, wasn’t it? Look at this.’ He produced in triumph a Gropist picture of a single finger called
This way
. ‘There was another called
Get out
, but I thought you might prefer this one. Only thirty guineas. They’re worth much more now.’
‘On the whole,’ said Basil, ‘I think I’d prefer a Monet or a Pissarro if you happen to have one.’
Mr Bronck started. ‘But they’re terribly expensive, sir,’ he said.
‘So I believe,’ said Basil, ‘but this time I’ve come to put money into pictures. I’ve sold some Defence Bonds and want to reinvest.’
Mr Bronck was delighted and assisted Basil to invest some £5,000. They spent quite an enjoyable afternoon. Even Elizabeth enjoyed herself looking at the women who hadn’t pearl necklaces. Just before they left, Mr Bronck referred again to the Gropists.
‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘what was the origin of their sensational success.’
‘I believe,’ said Basil, ‘it was baked beans on toast. Thank you so much. Good afternoon.’
Mr Bronck, almost in tears, telephoned his bankers and arranged to have Basil’s cheque specially cleared. He was surprised to find that it was met.
Chapter 4
====
FOR a long time after the successful conclusion of the Gropist episode the happy quartet played and played. They sampled every kind of legitimate pleasure. They had achieved their ambition; they had enough capital to last them the rest of their lives and they had for ever laid the hideous spectre of work. Not by incantations or prayers but by a skilful shaking of the trees on which other people’s money grew. They stored away enough of the fruit for the future and proceeded to eat as much as they liked in every kind of place and always in perfect comfort. It was a type of existence for which so many people hope and pray each week as they seal up, stamp, and post the little envelopes which make pool promoters very rich. ‘If only—’ they say to themselves. ‘Perhaps next week.’ And they picture the mayor presenting them with a cheque in the presence of the representative of Grandmaster’s Pools. Perhaps they will appear in ‘In Town Tonight’. The eager imagination of at least one competitor pictures something like this:
‘And now we have in the studio someone in whose shoes you would all like to be — or should I say in whose dress — very becoming, if I may say so, Mrs Sparke, I beg your pardon — Mrs Sharples . . . Now, Mrs Sharples, and what does it feel like to win £75,000?’
‘I don’t really know yet. I have never done it before.’
‘No, of course not. What d’you think of doing with your great good fortune? Are you going on working?’
‘I might do.’
‘Not made up your mind. Very natural. But tell us something which I’m sure listeners want to hear: what’s the first thing you’re going to get? I’m sure each week people think what they’re going to buy if they’re lucky, and now here you are, the lucky one — what’s it going to be . . . a fur coat, a car or . . .?’
‘Well, I think I shall get a wireless licence first.’
‘You’d better not say that too loud. The Postmaster-General may be listening.’
‘But we haven’t got a wireless yet — that’s the next thing I’ll get.’
‘Not got a wireless set? Good gracious. That must be almost unique. Then you didn’t hear the football results on the wireless?’
‘Oh yes I did — at a friend’s. You see, my husband doesn’t hold with the wireless. He says it makes a noise.’
‘Surely it’s only other people’s wirelesses that make a noise, Mrs Sparke — I’m so sorry — Sharples. I shall forget my own name next. Anyway, that’s the first thing you’re going to buy — a wireless set. You don’t think your husband will mind now?’
‘He won’t have to. As a matter of fact, that reminds me of the next thing I will get.’
‘Ah — what’s that?’
‘A separation.’
The lady imagines a good deal more of the interview, but she would be wrong. As soon as the interviewer realized she meant what she was saying he would swiftly and even unceremoniously get on to the next item — the man who had been walking continuously for a month, day and night.
‘You can hear him. He’s even marking time in the studio. Tell me, Mr Turner, what makes you do this?’
‘Oh, I dunno.’
Then there is the other type of competitor who has put a cross in the correct place on the coupon, and who creeps away, almost unknown, with the £75,000 and counts it over and over again, has a holiday, buys a business, loses some money, has another holiday, quarrels with his wife, buys another business, loses the rest of his money and starts going in for football pools again. Join the happy circle.
Basil and Nicholas and their wives did not fall into either of these categories. They deliberately and carefully set out in pursuit of enjoyment and they usually found it. But it could not go on for ever. Minds like those of Basil and Nicholas required from time to time something more stimulating than mere enjoyment. One day, while at the Riviera, they were all sitting together having a drink before lunch when Basil spoke:
‘Here I am,’ he said, ‘with a lovely wife, two cheerful and delightful friends, as many acquaintances as I choose to buy — and yet I’m not satisfied.’
‘Surely,’ said Elizabeth, ‘you’re not suggesting you want two lovely wives and four cheerful and delightful friends?’
‘I quite agree, old man,’ said Nicholas, ignoring Elizabeth’s flippancy. ‘I feel just the same.’
‘Thank you,’ said Petula. ‘I like that. Did you hear it too?’ And she turned to Elizabeth.
‘Dear Petula,’ said Elizabeth, stretching herself gently and, as it were, unfolding her incredible beauty for the three of them to admire. Well as they knew her they could not avoid doing so, nor did they wish to. As Basil had said more than once: ‘If you like pictures, you don’t get tired of looking at a lovely picture even if you’ve had it all your life. If the picture happens to be alive, that should make it better, not worse.’
‘Dear Petula,’ repeated Elizabeth, ‘you’re pretty as a picture. I’ve often seen men looking at you in the streets.’
‘Stop it, girls,’ said Basil. ‘I’m serious. After lunch I shall go to the Casino to risk £20,000. If we lose it it should make us think a bit, and we ought to get a momentary thrill watching it go.’
‘Suppose we win?’
‘Oh, we won’t. But if we do we shall have to bear it manfully. While we’re there the girls can go and buy something expensive. Then they can sell it again, if necessary, afterwards.’
Later that day they met again and Basil had to announce the doleful news that once more they had won. Good luck had dogged them wherever they went. They had started at the Casino in quite a small way, and now they had made another fortune. They were not even robbed in the street, and though there was a hotel thief staying at their hotel he never even tried their rooms. Very foolishly and quite falsely, Basil, while having a drink with him at the bar, had mentioned that he always left a tame poisonous snake in the sitting-room when they went to bed.
After announcing the news, Basil said:
‘Tonight we shall drink too much. Tomorrow we must make a plan. If we go on like this I shall become irritable before my time.’
The next morning they decided to go back to London, and the day after their arrival home Nicholas and Basil had a serious talk together.
‘Suppose we buy a racehorse or two? That might be fun,’ suggested Nicholas.
‘We could try,’ said Basil, ‘but it’s not one of your brighter ideas. I bet it wins.’
It did. They tried backing it, but it still won. The final fiasco came when they won the Derby with a horse which all the authorities on racing said was incapable of doing so because of its breeding. It is true that two horses which were well clear of it in the straight collided and the girths of the favourite broke when it would otherwise have won, but accidents will happen, and Elizabeth, almost in tears, had to lead the winner in. She did not fully understand what all the fuss was about—it seemed to her very pleasant to win the Derby and to be photographed patting her horse’s head (provided it didn’t bite her) — but she realized that all this success was making Basil miserable. She was devoted to him, as was Petula to Nicholas; and as they had shared the sorrows of poverty in the past, so now they shared the misery of success.
A few days after the Derby, the quartet were sitting unhappily in the grill room of an expensive hotel just managing to get through a little caviare and champagne. Suddenly Nicholas put his glass down.
‘I’ve got it,’ he said. ‘I wonder why it’s never occurred to us before.’
They all took a quick drink and waited. ‘Finish that stuff up first,’ he said. ‘I want your undivided attention.’
The caviare immediately began to taste a little better; they raised the champagne to their lips in a perceptibly more cheerful manner.
‘Now,’ said Nicholas.
Immediately a waiter came to clear the plates, preparatory to serving the next course.
‘Don’t interrupt us for the next ten minutes, please,’ said Basil.
‘But the chicken pancake is just made,’ exclaimed the waiter. ‘If it is left it will — ‘Unmake it,’ said Basil. ‘Put it in the pig bucket, or much the same thing, serve it to those gentlemen over there — but go away, please. Well, Nicholas?’
‘Now don’t jump down my throat at once. It’s a very simple suggestion.’
‘All the best plans are simple.’
‘Well, it’s just this. We’ve got more money than we know what to do with. Why not do some good with it?’
No one spoke. Then Basil drank some more champagne. He still said nothing. Eventually Petula could stand the silence no longer.
‘Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?’ she said. ‘I thought you were tired of it.’
‘Good to other people,’ explained Nicholas gently.
‘Oh,’ said Petula.
Elizabeth assumed her puzzled look to such an extent that nearly all the men who could see her wanted to kiss it and make it better.
‘Good?’ said Basil. ‘It’s an idea. I must think.’
He remained thinking for fully a minute.
Then, ‘It’s worth trying,’ he said. ‘Not at all a bad notion. Had you anything particular in mind?’
‘I hadn’t, as a matter of fact. It only came to me a short time ago. I was getting a flower for Petula. The girl I got it from was so pretty that I gave her a pound. It was the look she gave me that started me off. We’re used to over-tipping, of course. But the normal look on head-waiters’ faces when you give them twice as much as anyone else and ten times as much as the service they’ve rendered you is worth has never much attracted me. There’s pleasure in it, to be sure, but mixed up with so much oiliness, sycophancy, and contempt that I prefer the man who takes it as though I’d undertipped him. But this girl, she just looked at me and smiled — such a lovely open happy smile —’
‘Look here,’ said Petula. ‘Who were you doing good to?’
‘No need to be jealous,’ went on Nicholas. ‘I didn’t even get her address.’
‘You know where to find her.’
‘Let him get on, Petula,’ said Basil. ‘He hasn’t finished yet.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ said Petula.
‘She looked so intensely happy and pleased that I really got a kick out of it. D’you know, in a flash I visualized the wicked landlord about to turn her and her aged mother into the street —’
‘A pound wouldn’t go far,’ interrupted Basil; ‘and, anyway, there aren’t any wicked landlords any more. They aren’t allowed to be. All the new fairy stories will start the other way round: there once was a wicked tenant who never paid the rent to his poor old landlord who had nothing else to live on. One day a stranger came to the tenant and said: “Kind sir, will you give me ninepence for fourpence?” “Like hell,” said the tenant. “Hop it.” Then the stranger went to the old landlord who had only ninepence left to live on and asked him the same question. “Give you ninepence for fourpence?” repeated the old landlord. “I’ve been doing nothing else for years. I might as well.”
‘Well — I thought a pound wouldn’t go far either, so I made it a flyer. And then she —’
‘I don’t want to hear any more,’ said Petula. ‘No, I’m sure it’s perfectly all right and above board, but I just prefer not to know.’
‘Petula,’ said Basil, ‘you must keep quiet. You know perfectly well that if Nicholas is ever guilty of the slightest impropriety — and I’m sure he isn’t — he does it most discreetly and lies to you like a trooper if you suspect anything. Go on, Nicholas.’
‘She just looked at me and said, “It must be great fun being able to make people happy so simply.” ’
‘What did you say?’
‘I treated it all very lightly. I just said “How d’you know it’s simple? It might have been my last flyer and I might be just about to throw myself in the Thames.” ’
‘ “That’s quite simple, too,” she said. “That’s the great thing about life. You can always get rid of it if you don’t like it. But I’m sure it isn’t that in your case. I can see by your face that you’re kind. You just love making people happy.” “I’m glad I’ve made you happy,” I said—’
‘Don’t you think I might have something to eat?’ said Petula. ‘I should find the tale of Nicholas and the beautiful flower girl easier to stomach if I could get my teeth into something — preferably some raw meat.’
‘It’s all over,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s all there is to it. But it really did give me such a thrill to see that girl’s face — it lighted up so — it —’
‘All right,’ said Basil. ‘We’ve got your point. You needn’t elaborate for Petula’s benefit. She’s been keeping up with us this time.’
‘A bit ahead, I should say,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Well,’ said Basil, ‘admittedly it’s a novel idea, but personally I’m all in favour of something new. Mark you, we may just make fools of ourselves and, when it comes to it, we may not like it at all. Everyone isn’t like Nicholas’s flower girl — and she probably didn’t need any help whatsoever. However, I think that the best thing will be if we try it out gradually, then if it seems to work, we can go in for it in a big way. I’ll make a recce tomorrow. I’ll call at the Vicarage and give the old boy £2,000 for something and see what it feels like. That’ll be a fair test. I’m not impugning Nicholas’s good faith, but the flower girl wasn’t. D’you all agree?’
The proposal was carried and next morning Basil found out the name of the Vicar, telephoned him, and made an appointment for the following day.
The Reverend Matthew Pudsey had not always been a parson. He had been in business, a solicitor, and a schoolmaster. Each time, however, he had failed because, to make a success, he would have had to have done things quite alien to his nature. In business he insisted on reading all the official forms he had to sign before signing them, and he refused to sign any statement which was not wholly accurate or to make any promise which he had not some reasonable expectation of being able to fulfil. His business associates soon tired of this. ‘We’ll go bust if you spend all your time like that,’ they said. ‘Everyone signs these things. There’s nothing to it. The Ministry doesn’t expect you to keep your word.’
‘Then the Ministry shouldn’t ask me to sign,’ he would say. Sometimes he altered a form so as to make his declaration accurate. No Government department can tolerate this. Either you sign the printed form unaltered or you don’t get the licence, they said. But it wouldn’t be true, he would say. Never mind, they would reply, we quite understand. Well, I don’t, he would say.
As a solicitor, he was not much better. Law had seemed to him an admirable profession and suitable to his logical mind. Indeed, when in business he had more than once been told that he should be a ruddy lawyer. But he found the distinction between knowledge that your client is in the wrong and a firm belief to the same effect too nice a one.
‘It’s not for you to try the man,’ said one of his partners. ‘That’s for the Judge. You may be wrong.’
‘I dare say you’re right,’ he replied, ‘but it requires a person with a rather tougher conscience than mine to appear for someone who I’m quite sure is in the wrong and who gives every indication to me of being a thorough-paced liar; just because he tells me, with an oily grin, that he is in the right and can prove it by the evidence of some poisonous-looking reptiles whom he calls his independent witnesses.’
So he gave up the law for teaching. This at first suited him better. But there he found not his conscience, but his intelligence, outraged.