“R!” he said approvingly. “Now you’re torkin’!”
The shop girl had espied an acquaintance in the crowd. She gave tongue.
“Mordee! Cummere! Cummere quick! Sumfin’ hap’nin’!” Maudie, accompanied by perhaps a dozen more of London’s millions, added herself to the audience. These all belonged to the class which will gather round and watch silently while a motorist mends a tyre. They are not impatient. They do not call for rapid and continuous action. A mere hole in the ground, which of all sights is perhaps the least vivid and dramatic, is enough to grip their attention for hours at a time. They stared at George and George’s cab with unblinking gaze. They did not know what would happen or when it would happen, but they intended to wait till something did happen. It might be for years or it might be for ever, but they meant to be there when things began to occur.
Speculations became audible.
“Wot is it? ‘Naccident?”
“Nah! Gent ‘ad ‘is pocket picked!”
“Two toffs ‘ad a scrap!”
“Feller bilked the cabman!”
A sceptic made a cynical suggestion.
“They’re doin’ of it for the pictures.”
The idea gained instant popularity.
“Jear that? It’s a fillum!”
“Wot o’, Charlie!”
“The kemerer’s ‘idden in the keb.”
“Wot’ll they be up to next!”
A red-nosed spectator with a tray of collar-studs harnessed to his stomach started another school of thought. He spoke with decision as one having authority.
“Nothin’ of the blinkin’ kind! The fat ‘un’s bin ‘avin’ one or two around the corner, and it’s gorn and got into ‘is ‘ead!”
The driver of the cab, who till now had been ostentatiously unaware that there was any sort of disturbance among the lower orders, suddenly became humanly inquisitive.
“What’s it all about?” he asked, swinging around and addressing George’s head.
“Exactly what I want to know,” said George. He indicated the collar-stud merchant. “The gentleman over there with the portable Woolworth-bargain-counter seems to me to have the best theory.”
The stout young man, whose peculiar behaviour had drawn all this flattering attention from the many-headed and who appeared considerably ruffled by the publicity, had been puffing noisily during the foregoing conversation. Now, having recovered sufficient breath to resume the attack, he addressed himself to George once more.
“Damn you, sir, will you let me look inside that cab?”
“Leave me,” said George, “I would be alone.”
“There is a young lady in that cab. I saw her get in, and I have been watching ever since, and she has not got out, so she is there now.”
George nodded approval of this close reasoning.
“Your argument seems to be without a flaw. But what then? We applaud the Man of Logic, but what of the Man of Action? What are you going to do about it?”
“Get out of my way!”
“I won’t.”
“Then I’ll force my way in!”
“If you try it, I shall infallibly bust you one on the jaw.”
The stout young man drew back a pace.
“You can’t do that sort of thing, you know.”
“I know I can’t,” said George, “but I shall. In this life, my dear sir, we must be prepared for every emergency. We must distinguish between the unusual and the impossible. It would be unusual for a comparative stranger to lean out of a cab window and sock you one, but you appear to have laid your plans on the assumption that it would be impossible. Let this be a lesson to you!”
“I tell you what it is—”
“The advice I give to every young man starting life is ‘Never confuse the unusual with the impossible!’ Take the present case, for instance. If you had only realized the possibility of somebody some day busting you on the jaw when you tried to get into a cab, you might have thought out dozens of crafty schemes for dealing with the matter. As it is, you are unprepared. The thing comes on you as a surprise. The whisper flies around the clubs: ‘Poor old What’s-his-name has been taken unawares. He cannot cope with the situation!”
The man with the collar-studs made another diagnosis. He was seeing clearer and clearer into the thing every minute.
“Looney!” he decided. “This ‘ere one’s bin moppin’ of it up, and the one in the keb’s orf ‘is bloomin’ onion. That’s why ‘e ‘s standin’ up instead of settin’. ‘E won’t set down ‘cept you bring ‘im a bit o’ toast, ‘cos he thinks ‘e ‘s a poached egg.”
George beamed upon the intelligent fellow.
“Your reasoning is admirable, but—”
He broke off here, not because he had not more to say, but for the reason that the stout young man, now in quite a Berserk frame of mind, made a sudden spring at the cab door and clutched the handle, which he was about to wrench when George acted with all the promptitude and decision which had marked his behaviour from the start.
It was a situation which called for the nicest judgment. To allow the assailant free play with the handle or even to wrestle with him for its possession entailed the risk that the door might open and reveal the girl. To bust the young man on the jaw, as promised, on the other hand, was not in George’s eyes a practical policy. Excellent a deterrent as the threat of such a proceeding might be, its actual accomplishment was not to be thought of. Gaols yawn and actions for assault lie in wait for those who go about the place busting their fellows on the jaw. No. Something swift, something decided and immediate was indicated, but something that stopped short of technical battery.
George brought his hand round with a sweep and knocked the stout young man’s silk hat off.
The effect was magical. We all of us have our Achilles heel, and—paradoxically enough—in the case of the stout young man that heel was his hat. Superbly built by the only hatter in London who can construct a silk hat that is a silk hat, and freshly ironed by loving hands but a brief hour before at the only shaving-parlour in London where ironing is ironing and not a brutal attack, it was his pride and joy. To lose it was like losing his trousers. It made him feel insufficiently clad. With a passionate cry like that of some wild creature deprived of its young, the erstwhile Berserk released the handle and sprang in pursuit. At the same moment the traffic moved on again.
The last George saw was a group scene with the stout young man in the middle of it. The hat had been popped up into the infield, where it had been caught by the messenger boy. The stout young man was bending over it and stroking it with soothing fingers. It was too far off for anything to be audible, but he seemed to George to be murmuring words of endearment to it. Then, placing it on his head, he darted out into the road and George saw him no more. The audience remained motionless, staring at the spot where the incident had happened. They would continue to do this till the next policeman came along and moved them on.
With a pleasant wave of farewell, in case any of them might be glancing in his direction, George drew in his body and sat down.
The girl in brown had risen from the floor, if she had ever been there, and was now seated composedly at the further end of the cab.
Chapter 4
“Well, that’s that!” said George.
“I’m so much obliged,” said the girl.
“It was a pleasure,” said George.
He was enabled now to get a closer, more leisurely and much more satisfactory view of this distressed damsel than had been his good fortune up to the present. Small details which, when he had first caught sight of her, distance had hidden from his view, now presented themselves. Her eyes, he discovered, which he had supposed brown, were only brown in their general colour-scheme. They were shot with attractive little flecks of gold, matching perfectly the little streaks gold which the sun, coming out again on one of his flying visits and now shining benignantly once more on the world, revealed in her hair. Her chin was square and determined, but its
resoluteness was contradicted by a dimple and by the pleasant good-humour of the mouth; and a further softening of the face was effected by the nose, which seemed to have started out with the intention of being dignified and aristocratic but had defeated its purpose by tilting very slightly at the tip. This was a girl who would take chances, but would take them with a smile and laugh when she lost.
George was but an amateur physiognomist, but he could read what was obvious in the faces he encountered; and the more he looked at this girl, the less he was able to understand the scene which had just occurred. The thing mystified him completely. For all her good-humour, there was an air, a manner, a something capable and defensive, about this girl with which he could not imagine any man venturing to take liberties. The gold-brown eyes, as they met his now, were friendly and smiling, but he could imagine them freezing into a stare baleful enough and haughty enough to quell such a person as the silk-hatted young man with a single glance. Why, then, had that super-fatted individual been able to demoralize her to the extent of flying to the shelter of strange cabs? She was composed enough now, it was true, but it had been quite plain that at the moment when she entered the taxi her nerve had momentarily forsaken her. There were mysteries here, beyond George.
The girl looked steadily at George and George looked steadily at her for the space of perhaps ten seconds. She seemed to George to be summing him up, weighing him. That the inspection proved satisfactory was shown by the fact that at the end of this period she smiled. Then she laughed, a clear pealing laugh which to George was far more musical than the most popular song-hit he had ever written.
“I suppose you are wondering what it’s all about?” she said.
This was precisely what George was wondering most consumedly.
“No, no,” he said. “Not at all. It’s not my business.”
“And of course you’re much too well bred to be inquisitive about other people’s business?”
“Of course I am. What was it all about?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
“But what am I to say to the cabman?”
“I don’t know. What do men usually say to cabmen?”
“I mean he will feel very hurt if I don’t give him a full explanation of all this. He stooped from his pedestal to make enquiries just now. Condescension like that deserves some recognition.”
“Give him a nice big tip.”
George was reminded of his reason for being in the cab.
“I ought to have asked before,” he said. “Where can I drive you?”
“Oh, I mustn’t steal your cab. Where were you going?”
“I was going back to my hotel. I came out without any money, so I shall have to go there first to get some.”
The girl started.
“What’s the matter?” asked George.
“I’ve lost my purse!”
“Good Lord! Had it much in it?”
“Not very much. But enough to buy a ticket home.”
“Any use asking where that is?”
“None, I’m afraid.”
“I wasn’t going to, of course.”
“Of course not. That’s what I admire so much in you. You aren’t inquisitive.”
George reflected.
“There’s only one thing to be done. You will have to wait in the cab at the hotel, while I go and get some money. Then, if you’ll let me, I can lend you what you require.”
“It’s much too kind of you. Could you manage eleven shillings?”
“Easily. I’ve just had a legacy.”
“Of course, if you think I ought to be economical, I’ll go third-class. That would only be five shillings. Ten-and-six is the first-class fare. So you see the place I want to get to is two hours from London.”
“Well, that’s something to know.”
“But not much, is it?”
“I think I had better lend you a sovereign. Then you’ll be able to buy a lunch-basket.”
“You think of everything. And you’re perfectly right. I shall be starving. But how do you know you will get the money back?”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Well, then, I shall have to be inquisitive and ask your name. Otherwise I shan’t know where to send the money.”
“Oh, there’s no mystery about me. I’m an open book.”
“You needn’t be horrid about it. I can’t help being mysterious.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“It sounded as if you did. Well, who is my benefactor?”
“My name is George Bevan. I am staying at the Carlton at present.”
“I’ll remember.”
The taxi moved slowly down the Haymarket. The girl laughed.
“Yes?” said George.
“I was only thinking of back there. You know, I haven’t thanked you nearly enough for all you did. You were wonderful.”
“I’m very glad I was able to be of any help.”
“What did happen? You must remember I couldn’t see a thing except your back, and I could only hear indistinctly.”
“Well, it started by a man galloping up and insisting that you had got into the cab. He was a fellow with the appearance of a before-using advertisement of an anti-fat medicine and the manners of a ring-tailed chimpanzee.”
The girl nodded.
“Then it was Percy! I knew I wasn’t mistaken.”
“Percy?”
“That is his name.”
“It would be! I could have betted on it.”
“What happened then?”
“I reasoned with the man, but didn’t seem to soothe him, and finally he made a grab for the door-handle, so I knocked off his hat, and while he was retrieving it we moved on and escaped.”
The girl gave another silver peal of laughter.
“Oh, what a shame I couldn’t see it. But how resourceful of you! How did you happen to think of it?”
“It just came to me,” said George modestly.
A serious look came into the girl’s face. The smile died out of her eyes. She shivered.
“When I think how some men might have behaved in your place!”
“Oh, no. Any man would have done just what I did. Surely, knocking off Percy’s hat was an act of simple courtesy which anyone would have performed automatically!”
“You might have been some awful bounder. Or, what would have been almost worse, a slow-witted idiot who would have stopped to ask questions before doing anything. To think I should have had the luck to pick you out of all London!”
“I’ve been looking on it as a piece of luck—but entirely from my viewpoint.”
She put a small hand on his arm, and spoke earnestly.
“Mr. Bevan, you mustn’t think that, because I’ve been laughing a good deal and have seemed to treat all this as a joke, you haven’t saved me from real trouble. If you hadn’t been there and hadn’t acted with such presence of mind, it would have been terrible!”
“But surely, if that fellow was annoying you, you could have called a policeman?”
“Oh, it wasn’t anything like that. It was much, much worse. But I mustn’t go on like this. It isn’t fair on you.” Her eyes lit up again with the old shining smile. “I know you have no curiosity about me, but still there’s no knowing whether I might not arouse some if I went on piling up the mystery. And the silly part is that really there’s no mystery at all. It’s just that I can’t tell anyone about it.”
“That very fact seems to me to constitute the makings of a pretty fair mystery.”
“Well, what I mean is, I’m not a princess in disguise trying to escape from anarchists, or anything like those things you read about in books. I’m just in a perfectly simple piece of trouble. You would be bored to death if I told you about it.”
“Try me.”
She shook her head.
“No. Besides, here we are.” The cab had stopped at the hotel, and a commissionaire was already opening the door. “Now, if you haven’t repented of your rash offer and
really are going to be so awfully kind as to let me have that money, would you mind rushing off and getting it, because I must hurry. I can just catch a good train, and it’s hours to the next.”
“Will you wait here? I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Very well.”
The last George saw of her was another of those exhilarating smiles of hers. It was literally the last he saw of her, for, when he returned not more than two minutes later, the cab had gone, the girl had gone, and the world was empty.
To him, gaping at this wholly unforeseen calamity the commissionaire vouchsafed information.
“The young lady took the cab on, sir.”
“Took the cab on?”
“Almost immediately after you had gone, sir, she got in again and told the man to drive to Waterloo.”
George could make nothing of it. He stood there in silent perplexity, and might have continued to stand indefinitely, had not his mind been distracted by a dictatorial voice at his elbow.
“You, sir! Dammit!”
A second taxi-cab had pulled up, and from it a stout, scarlet– faced young man had sprung. One glance told George all. The hunt was up once more. The bloodhound had picked up the trail. Percy was in again!
For the first time since he had become aware of her flight, George was thankful that the girl had disappeared. He perceived that he had too quickly eliminated Percy from the list of the Things That Matter. Engrossed with his own affairs, and having regarded their late skirmish as a decisive battle from which there would be no rallying, he had overlooked the possibility of this annoying and unnecessary person following them in another cab—a task which, in the congested, slow-moving traffic, must have been a perfectly simple one. Well, here he was, his soul manifestly all stirred up and his blood-pressure at a far higher figure than his doctor would have approved of, and the matter would have to be opened all over again.
A Damsel in Distress Page 4
