by Lewis Hockley [Percy Longhurst].
Originally published in The Magnet Library (The Amalgamated Press, Ltd.) vol.1 #8 (04 Apr 1908).
Solomon Abrams effects a Sale in Postcards.
"Ah," observed the Jew, "a man must mind his business; you're right; if he don't, no one will for him!"
"Sometimes they will; and then he wakes up one fine morning and finds that he's get no business to mind."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Hebrew aloud. "That was good—very good! Ha, ha! Now my business was in there!" And he patted the leather case beside him.
"Indeed?"
"Yes, it was; and it was all my own!"
"Then you'll be proud of it?"
"It will do as a beginning. Now, what you think it is?"
"Cheap jewellery, perhaps?" Lomax suggested.
"No, it waa not. That was good, but this is better! See!"
The fellow took the case on his knees as he spoke, pressed a spring, and it flew open. Within were sheet upon sheet of picture postcards, six on a sheet, with perforations between, so that each might be easily detached.
Picture postcards interested Robert Lomax just then, and he leaned forward to examine these gorgeous bits of pasteboard with some attention.
"Lovely, was they not?" inquired the Jew, believing that tho superb magnificence of his wares had called forth this display of interest, and turning over the sheets, that his companion might feast his eyes upon the highly-coloured presentments of lake and river, sea and cities, landscapes, seascapes, animals, and all the rest of the menagerie. "Was they not beau-u-u-tiful, my friend?"
"They are, beyond a doubt!" Lomax asid heartily. That the style of beauty they displayed was not that which appealed to him was not to say that othors might not appreciate it.
"And so cheap as they was beautiful!" continued their proud purveyor.
"Never!"
"But they was. I sell those at twopence-ha'penny the sheet!"
"By Jove; there are some people who get hold of bargains!" Lomax said with enthusiasm, And his acquaintance looked really pleased.
Lomax took several of the sheets in his hands and examined them attentively. No doubt they were cheap; certainly those who bought the cards got plenty of colour—even some to spare—for their money. Never in Nature did or could one see sunsets and sunrises so appallingly vivid, leaves and grass of so gorgeous a green, flowers of such brilliant hues, or, animals—cats, dogs, farmyard creatures, or wild beasts—with skins so aggressively bright and glossy. Nowhere on earth, surely, ever existed persons with complexions of quite the same shade as that given to the soldiers, sailors, tinkers, tailors, drunken men, and swells, who figured on these cards. The blaze of colour dazzled one's eyes; it fairly made them ache. What wos lacking in accuracy of drawing was more than replaced by the lavish use of bright colouring.
Some of the cards would have given the most case-hardened, superlatively indifferent sud insensitive cab-horse, of costermonger's jackass, pains in the stomach. Only a mule could have viewed them without any disturbance of its equanimity.
"Lovely, was they not?" asked the Jewish gentleman again.
Lomax couldn't bring himself to agree a second time.
"You take them to the shops, I suppose; do you sell many of them?"
"My friend, they sell in thousands!" the Jew replied. "The profit, of course, is small," he added quickly.
"So I should say, at tuppence-ha'penny the half dozen!"
"But the quality—ah it was good! Yes, I sell them in the shops; I go about here, there, and everywhere near London. I cover a lot of ground. I sell a lot in the towns; but, my friend, I sell my cards the beat in the country—at the cottages and the farmhouses they buy them as if they was pure gold!"
"You must be making a mint of money," suggested Lomax.
"It is a small profit."
"But if you sell so many that profit mounts up!"
The Jew laughed softly.
"I was not doing so bad," he said; "soon I will have half a dozen men working for me, selling these all over England. Now, I sell only a little piece of the country. I am my own traveller, and I print the cards mineself; I draw them--I design them. One week I will work so hard at my printing--every day, every night--and the next week, I will take those cards I have printed, and I will go over the country selling them. Southend I go to; so far as Dorking; and St. Albans, and sometimes to Reading. And I sell my cards. Will you let me sell you some?"
"Well, bless me if I don't feel inclined to buy some, if it's only by way of encouragement; though it doesn't seem as if you needed any of that!" Lomax replied.
"Well, you can choose the best," said the young Jew delightedly. "It was always a pleasure to me to sell anything to those who can appreciate it, and I can see that you do. How many sheets will you have? If you will take five, I can sell them to you at one shilling the lot. See, you will gain one ha'penny, and you will have thirty such beau-u-tiful postcards that you could not ever get better, and will be a joy to you for ever after. Will you have the five sheets?"
"I think I will" the young detective said slowly, scarcely hearing what was said to him, so closely was he looking at the cards; though not, as their designer, printer, and seller believed, in earnest admiration of their artistic merits, but for quite a different purpose.
"That is right; you will make one ha'penny profit, and you will be a sensible man into the bargain. But the cards do sell themselves. When I open my case, the country people do throw up their hands in wonder at such beauty. These are but my samples: I have great cese—ah, ever so big!--in the guard's van. But to such a gentleman as you I do not mind to sell my samples."
"And what's this figure; your trade-mark?" Lomax asked, placing tho tip of his forefinger on one of the cards--a flamboyant view of Windsor Castle--where a faintly apparent tracing in one corner, implanted on a rich dark green slab of colour, which represented the shadowy side of a moss-covered stone, was seen by a careful eye.
"That is so; my private mark--my sign of hand. Wherever you see cards with that mark on them--it is an A within a ring--you may buy it without fear, for you will know that it is one of mine--Solomon Abrams. I mark them all so, that people may not be cheated. Look for the A inside the ring, I say to them, and then you will not be done."
"Ah!"
It occurred to Lomax that he had seen Mr. Solomon Abram's private trade-mark before; it had caught his eye when examining Mrs. Brewer's batch, now reposing within the bag on the luggage-rack above his head.
Lomax paid over his shilling, made his choice of the cards before him, separated them, and put them in his bag.
"Suppose I'll see some of your handiwork adorning the shops in Leigh, Mr. Abrams?" he observed, this operation being concluded.
"Yes, I have done business in Leigh, I sell a great many there; but I sell many everywhere," Mr. Abrams answered; "and all so good and boau-u-tiful as these you have now bought. And no complaints—never no complaints."
"And who's your best customer in Leigh? Maybe I could do some business with him, too."
Tho Jew's eyes suddenly became hard, the oily smile faded from his lips.
"You sell picture postcards, too?" he cried sharply.
Lomax burst out laughing.
"No, no," he answered; "I deal in something very, very different from Postcards, Mr. Abrams. Don't imagine I'm a possible rival of yours—though, for that matter, [ don't see how it would be possible to rival your productions: they're simply unapproachable. I merely asked because I wanted to know who is the most substantial tradesman in tho place; though I'm not a commercial traveller at all. I'm staring in Leigh for a few days, and I want to know who's the man to go to for what I want."
The Jew resumed his ordinary expression.
"Then, my friend," he said, "I would recommend you to Mr. Lawrence; his is the best shop in Leigh. But I do not sell my goods to Mr. Lawrence; he have his from a London firm, and he will not look at my goods."
"More fool he," Lomax murmured sympathetically.
"He was a fool; but I sell them elsewhere. At the school I sell a lot, until one day a master come, and he order me off. He called me a dirty thief--a Jew pedlar—and would not let me sell any more. Said I defrauded the servants and the pupils."
"Did he think you didn't give them value for their money?"
"Maybe; but that was a lie. I sell them at a ha'penny each, six for twopence-halfpenny, and thirty for a shilling. Can a man do fairer than that?"
"I should say not. And, while I think of it, Mr. Abrams, what is your address, please? I might want to see you, to get some more cards off you, and I might not have the luck to run across you as I have done to-day."
"Certainly, my friend—certainly! This is my address, 142, Middlesex Street; that is where I live and do my printing and my designing. A letter there will always find me."
"Much obliged, I'm sure!" The train was entering a station, and Lomax rose to his feet, "And now I'll bid yon good-afternoon, Mr. Abrams; with many thinks for your company and conversation, and the most wonderful postcards I've ever seen in my life!"
The Jew shook hands warmly; informed Lomax that he might see him again shortly, as he'd probably be in Leigh either the next day, or that following; and, grasping his bag, Lomax walked quickly out of the little station and up towards the little street which has the honour of being the principal through-fare of Leigh-on-Sea.
A short inspection convinced him that the Railway Hotel was the only one with possibilities, and, after having arranged for installing himself there for the night, he took one of Solomon Abram's wonderful productions, and walked off to the local post-office.
A pleasant-faced girl was behind the desk, and, when Lomax asked for the loan of a pen to address the card, she readily complied. The card lay in full view of the desk, and Lomax, suddenly looking up, caught the girl's eyes fixed upon him with a curious expression.
"What's the matter?"
The girl blushed, and hesitatingly answered:
"Nothing."
"Is it the card?" Lomax inquired.
"Well, yes. I was thinking the friend you're sending it to won't get it."
"Why not?"
"Because we received directions from the General this morning to keep back all those cards. There's to be an inquiry, or something."
What Lomax Did.
Robert Lomax slept soundly that night, after a good supper and an exhaustive consideration of the business that had brought him to Leigh. The girl at the post-office had not been busy; she was communicatively inclined, and Robert had had a lengthy conversation with her. He had returned to the Railway Hotel feeling fairly well satisfied.
The transmission of the postcards from the unknown sender at Leigh to Mrs. Brewer had at last attracted the attention of the post-office authorities, or, rather, it was the nature of the communications which the missives bore; they had determined to take action, with a view to ascertaining the identity of the sender, and placing information with the police.
Thanks to Mr. Solomon Abrams, picture postcards were a favourite form of communication between Leigh folk and their friends elsewhere. The Jew pedlar's productions seized the fancy of the villagers; they bought of him largely, and numbers of the gaudy pictures were handed in every day to the sorters. From what the girl had said, it was plain that all such and other picture postcards were to be subjected to a scrutiny before being despatched.
But there wore other letter-boxes in the village besides that outside the post-office; and though it would be easy to ascertain at which the threatening missives, if any more were sent, were posted, to find out who was the actual poster would be a little more difficult and a longer operation, And whether the discoverer would feel inclined to give his information when acquired to Robert Lomax was, as the latter put it, a horse of a yery different colour. Lomax made up his mind to acquire the knowledge by his own efforts, and in another fashion.
That morning and afternoon he made an unostentatious tour of the village, finding every shop and cottage where the cards might be obtained, and holding conversation with the proprietors and occupiers thereof. There were several more of less regular purchasers of cards at two or three of the emporiums, where, besides cards, such articles as fishermen's nets, wood, coal, provisions of miscellaneous kinds, clothing, beer, and teas, "with shrimps or winkles and cake," were to be had.
In an artful, roundabout fashion Lomax tried to find out the names of those persons. At the end of the day he had acquired three names, a Mies Bella Diamond, a Mr. Steve Gilliard, and a Master Dick, surname unknown, but a pupil at the school from which Mr. Solomon Abram had been warned away.
Lomax intended looking these persons up the next day. Meanwhile he returned to his hotel, and spent a good deal of time in the further examination of the cards, and the devising of some plan enabling him to approach these persons without awakening suspicion.
Miss Diamond he learned before going to bed that night to be the barmaid at the Railway Hotel where he was staying, and he had a short and interesting conversation with her, but valueless from his point of view. Many postcards she admitted to sending, but these were either to her many girl friends or her equally numerous "young men." Besides, she didn't give one the impression of being likely to send threatening missives to anyone, even in fun; her ideas of humour ran in other directions.