The Rasp

by Philip MacDonald

  ‘And so now,’ he said, ‘I’ll go.’ He turned to the door.

  Then came a voice from behind him.

  ‘But—but’—it stammered deliciously—‘but please, I don’t want you to go. Please will you come back?’

  II

  ‘On Saturday,’ said Anthony in his lady’s ear—one chair held them both—‘on Saturday we leave this England. Before I’m wanted at this unpleasant trial a fortnight or three weeks will elapse, if I know anything of English justice. In that time, lady, we will paint a girdle of colour about the earth—or some of it at least.’ His clasp tightened about her shoulders. ‘Shall we? Shall we? I want to take you away, right away! I want to show you places you’ve never seen before though you may have been in them many times. Where shall it be? Paris? Brittany? Sicily? Madrid? Any’ll be a better heaven than is really possible.’

  To their ears came the hum of a car. As they listened, it grew louder; and yet louder. The car swept up the drive; halted. Down the stairs and past the door of the drawing-room came flying feet—Dora’s.

  ‘Archie. It’s Archie!’ Lucia struggled to free herself.

  Anthony held her closer. ‘Never mind Archibald. Answer me, woman! Do we leave England on Saturday?’

  They heard the heavy front-door flung open; then a cry of delight; then silence.

  ‘Let me down! Oh, do let me down!’ Lucia begged. ‘Tony, pleeease! They’ll be in here in a minute.’

  He released her, only to snatch her to him again when both were on their feet.

  He held her close. ‘You’ve got to answer, you know. Do we leave England—’

  ‘Oh, yes. All right, all right! But haven’t you forgotten something?’ He felt laughter shake her body.

  ‘Forgotten something?’ he said. ‘No, don’t think so.’

  She drew his face down to hers. ‘Don’t we get married at all?’ she whispered.

  ‘Hell!’ said Anthony. ‘I’d forgotten that. Damn it! That means we can’t go till Monday.’

  They heard footsteps outside. Lucia wriggled free, her face flaming.

  The door burst open. ‘Here we are!’ said Deacon, enormous in the doorway. ‘The return of Crippen. Most affectin’!’ He advanced into the room. ‘First: Gethryn, thank you.’ He stretched out a big hand and crushed Anthony’s.

  Dora, entering in a rush, fell upon her sister. ‘Loo! Loo!’ she cried, ‘we’re going to be married! Soon!’

  Lucia clutched at her and began to laugh. ‘Why, darling,’ she said, ‘I believe I am too.’

  III

  In town, Spencer Hastings and his betrothed were discussing details.

  ‘Of course,’ said Hastings, ‘A. R. Gethryn for best man?’

  Margaret patted his cheek. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me, little man,’ she said, ‘if we found he wasn’t eligible.’

  THE END

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  Footnotes

  Chapter XVII: BY ‘THE OWL’S’ COMMISSIONER

  fn1 Colonel Gethryn is surely too modest here.

  fn2 The Red Thumb Mark by R. A. Freeman.