The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton by E. Phillips Oppenheim

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Title: The Double Life Of Mr. Alfred Burton

Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim

Release Date: November 19, 2005 [EBook #17103]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOUBLE LIFE ***

Produced by Michael Kolodny

THE DOUBLE LIFE

OF

MR. ALFRED BURTON

BY

E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. THE FRUIT OF THE TREE II. A TRANSFORMATION III. MR. ALFRED BURTON'S FAMILY IV. A SHOCK TO MR. WADDINGTON V. BURTON'S NEW LIFE VI. A MEETING WITH ELLEN VII. LIE TRUTHFUL AUCTIONEER VIII. HESITATION IX. THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT X. NO RECONCILIATION XI. THE GATE INTO PARADISE XII. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE XIII. PROOF POSITIVE XIV. THE LEGEND OF THE PERFECT FOOD XV. THE PROFESSOR INSISTS XVI. ENTER MR. BOMFORD! XVII. BURTON DECLINES XVIII. THE END OP A DREAM XIX. A BAD HALF-HOUR XX. ANOTHER COMPLICATION XXI. AN AMAZING TRANSFORMATION XXII. DOUBTS XXIII. CONDEMNED! XXIV. MENATOGEN, THE MIND FOOD XXV. DISCONTENT XXVI. THE END OF A WONDERFUL WORLD XXVII. MR. WADDINGTON ALSO XXVIII. THE REAL ALFRED BURTON XXIX. RICHES AND REPENTANCE XXX. A MAN'S SOUL

THE DOUBLE LIFE

OF

MR. ALFRED BURTON

CHAPTER I

THE FRUIT OF THE TREE

Mr. Alfred Burton, although he was blissfully and completely ignorant of the fact, stood at the door of Fate. He was a little out of breath and his silk hat was reclining at the back of his head. In his mouth was a large cigar which he felt certain was going to disagree with him, but he smoked it because it had been presented to him a few minutes ago by the client upon whom he was in attendance. He had rather deep-set blue eyes, which might have been attractive but for a certain keenness in their outlook, which was in a sense indicative of the methods and character of the young man himself; a pale, characterless face, a straggling, sandy moustache, and an earnest, not to say convincing, manner. He was dressed in such garments as the head-clerk of Messrs. Waddington & Forbes, third-rate auctioneers and house agents, might have been expected to select. He dangled a bunch of keys in his hand.

"If this house don't suit you, sir," he declared, confidently, "why, there isn't one in the whole west-end that will. That's my opinion, anyway. There's nothing in our books to compare with it for value and accommodation. We nearly let it last week to Lord Leconside, but Her Ladyship—she came round with me herself—decided that it was just a trifle too large. As a matter of fact, sir," this energetic young man went on, confidentially, "the governor insisted upon a deposit and it didn't seem to be exactly convenient. It isn't always these people with titles who've got the money. That we find out in our business, sir, as quickly as anybody. As for the steam heating you were talking about, Mr. Lynn, why, that's all very well for New York," he continued, persuasively, "but over here the climate doesn't call for it—you can take it from me that it doesn't, indeed, Mr. Lynn. I have the letting in my hands of as many houses as most people, and you can take it from me, sir, as the direct result of my experience, that over here they won't have it—won't have it at any price, sir. Most unhealthy we find it, and always produces a rare crop of colds and coughs unknown to those that are used to an honest coal fire. It's all a matter of climate, sir, after all, isn't it?"

The young man paused to take breath. His client, who had been listening attentively in gloomy but not unappreciative silence, removed his cigar from his mouth. He was a middle-aged American with a wife and daughters on their way over from New York, and his business was to take a house before they arrived. It wasn't a job he liked, but he was making the best of it. This young man appealed to his sense of business.

"Say," he remarked, approvingly, "you've learned how to talk in your trade!"

Stimulated by this encouragement, Alfred Burton clapped on his hat a little more securely, took a long breath, and went at it again.

"Why, I'm giving myself a rest this morning, sir!" he declared. "I haven't troubled to tell you more than the bare facts. This house doesn't need any talking about—doesn't need a word said about it. Her Ladyship's last words to us were—Lady Idlemay, you know, the owner of the house—'Mr. Waddington and Mr. Burton,' she said—she was speaking to us both, for the governor always introduces me to clients as being the one who does most of the letting,—'Mr. Waddington and Mr. Burton,' she said, 'if a tenant comes along whom you think I'd like to have living in my rooms and using my furniture, breathing my air, so to speak, why, go ahead and let the house, rents being shockingly low just now, with agricultural depression and what not, but sooner than not let it to gentlepeople, I'll do without the money,' Her Ladyship declared. Now you're just the sort of tenant she'd like to have here. I'm quite sure of that, Mr. Lynn. I should take a pleasure in bringing you two together."

Mr. Lynn grunted. He was perfectly well aware that the house would seem more desirable to his wife and daughters from the very fact that it belonged to a "Lady" anybody. He was perfectly well aware, also, that his companion had suspected this. The consideration of these facts left him, however, unaffected. He was disposed, if anything, to admire the cleverness of the young man who had realized an outside asset.

"Well, I've seen pretty well all over it," he remarked. "I'll go back to the office with you, anyhow, and have a word with Mr. Waddington. By the way, what's that room behind you?"

The young man glanced carelessly around at the door of the room of Fate and down at the bunch of keys which he held in his hand. He even chuckled as he replied.

"I was going to mention the matter of that room, sir," he replied, "because, if perfectly agreeable to the tenant, Her Ladyship would like to keep it locked up."

"Locked up?" Mr. Lynn repeated. "And why?"

"Regular queer story, sir," the young man declared, confidentially. "The late Earl was a great traveller in the East, as you may have heard, and he was always poking about in some ruined city or other in the desert, and picking up things and making discoveries. Well, last time he came home from abroad, he brought with him an old Egyptian or Arab,—I don't know which he was, but he was brown,—settled him down in this room—in his own house, mind—and wouldn't have him disturbed or interfered with, not at any price. Well, the old chap worked here night and day at some sort of writing, and then, naturally enough, what with not having the sort of grub he liked, and never going outside the doors, he croaked."

"He what?" Mr. Lynn interposed.

"He died," the young man explained. "It was just about the time that the Earl was ill himself. His Lordship gave orders that the body was to be buried and the room locked up, in case the old chap's heirs