"I should take appropriate action."
"So, I hope, should I. But it'd be fearfully awkward— for both of us."
"Why?"
Jonathan decided to plunge.
"Well, I shouldn't— shouldn't love her, you know."
Sir Andrew let out a squeal of agony.
"Ugh!" he raged. "Ugh, you maundering fool!" He covered his eyes and waved the other away. "Didn't you undertake to mend your ways? Didn't you swear you’d eschew all sickly sentiment? Ugh, you make my gorge rise! Love? A poet's licence! A libertine's excuse! Besides, you might. You're fool enough, Heaven knows."
"Have a care, sir," cried Jonathan, laughing. "Don't drive the gods too far."
Sir Andrew sat up and looked at him.
"D'you want the sack?" he demanded.
"I do not," said Jonathan.
"Then hold your tongue," roared the other. "And don't squirt venom at me."
"I only said— "
"You made a most vulgar suggestion. You implied that my mind was diseased— that that disgusting emotion to which you just now referred could infect my reason."
"I'm perfectly sure," said his secretary, "that the woman you delighted to honour would have to—"
"She’d have to change her sex," was the grim reply. "Only to-day I was subjected to the grossest insult at a woman's hands." Jonathan repressed a start. "A most respectable-looking female proved to be a harridan of the very worst type. For no reason whatever she reviled me."
"Reviled you?"
"Reviled me," said Sir Andrew, rising. "Most foully. Omitting no circumstance of indignity. I tell you, I was amazed. She actually accused me of brawling."
Jonathan swallowed,
"She can't have known—"
"Oh, yes, she did! She defined it most accurately. She even referred to a leading case on the subject."
"But what had you done, sir?"
"'Done,' you fool? Nothing. She heard me correct a cabman. The swine demanded compensation, alleging that I'd broken his springs. I rebuked the man— naturally. Then I passed into that swab of a dentist's waiting-room, to be pounced upon by this— this scold." The lawyer began to stride up and down the room. His secretary, who had a pretty good idea of Sir Andrew's methods of reproof of cabmen and entrance into rooms, began to see daylight. "At first," continued the latter, warming, as he went on, "I could hardly believe my ears. Then, so soon as I could speak, I demurred.... My protests were interrupted, infamously perverted and ignored. When I sought to point out that my rights to the user of the room were co-equal with hers she made ready to swoon. Of common decency I let the point go, to be told I was 'a menace to society.'"
"'A menace...'"
"The vixen's words," said Sir Andrew. "You could have knocked me down. I tell you, Wood, it was a perfectly hellish business. Indeed, I can only think that, presumably mad with pain, the creature resented my intrusion and lost her balance. Mercifully, I kept my head and, at the expense of my dignity, calmed her before— before I left. She actually wandered towards the end. Poor woman, it was most distressing. She seemed to think I had emerged from a public-house."
With a fearful effort Jonathan subdued an impulse to yell with laughter. Wholly absorbed in his outrageous retrospection, the K.C. proceeded, frowning.
"Yes. The more I think of it, the more satisfied I am that she was temporarily deranged. Indeed, she referred to the house as 'a place of mental affliction.' Therefore I blame myself.... Not that I replied to her abuse. That course, as I have indicated, was denied me. But I should have humoured her, Wood.... She spoke of bull-rings and confessionals— in the same breath. Of course I was taken by surprise. And instinctively I strove to defend myself against what I fairly considered to be an unprovoked and provocative assault. Did I tell you she styled me a brute?"
"No, sir"— incredulously;
"She did," said Sir Andrew, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Twice. I tell you the woman was possessed— like the Gadarene swine."
"And, to judge," said Jonathan, eager to encourage this lenient view of the affair, "to judge from her behaviour, by the same tenants. Only, last time it was a place they ran violently down."
Sir Andrew laughed. Then he knitted his brows.
"Be that as it may," he said, "her frenzy took the form of vituperation. And I feel that, as she was unattended and, so far as I know, I am the only being who witnessed her— her humiliation, it would be becoming if— er— if I inquired after her health."
"Coals of fire," said Jonathan, stroking his chin.
"Er— perhaps. You see, I have no wish to be thought unsympathetic. I should like it to be understood that I bear her no ill will. I should like her to realize that if my manner was somewhat— er— stilted, that was due to my failure to appreciate her plight.... I— er— I feel— er...."
To interrupt Sir Andrew was, speaking generally, to invite, if not personal violence, at any rate execration of a very unpleasant sort. Here, however, it would have been plainly brutal to do anything else. He who was never at a loss for an expression was searching desperately for words.
"I'll find out her name to-morrow," said Jonathan Wood.
He retired that night, blessing the anonymous lady and all her works. Whatever her shortcomings, she had proved herself a red herring of conspicuous merit....
WHEN, two days later, Sir Andrew, who was standing in a cool drawing-room, awaiting his hostess's appearance, perspiring with great freedom and savagely asking himself why the devil he had come, perceived a large photograph of his secretary handsomely framed and sharing a Louis XV table with a blotter and a Lowestoft bowl full of roses, he stood as though rooted to the floor. Then he went backward, caught his foot against an ebony stool, lost his balance and, with a rattling oath, fell into the miniature palmarium which had till then been 'camouflaging' the hearth.
It was at this juncture that Lady Touchstone, wondering who 'Sir Andrew Plague' might be and what he wanted, opened the door....
For a moment she thought the room was empty.
Then—
"Ten thousand devils," said a familiar voice. "Ugly ones."
Lady Touchstone started violently and caught at a chair.
"Where are you?" she said faintly.
"Behind the sofa," said Sir Andrew, making frantic endeavours to rise. "Who's that man on the table?"
"Wh-what man?" stammered his hostess, staring about her.
"Sitting with Hamlet in his lap," cried Sir Andrew, prising himself out of the foliage.
"'Hamlet'!" shrieked Lady Touchstone. "'Hamlet'! Oh, he's mad," she continued, thinking aloud and trembling violently.
"No, he isn't," roared Plague. "He's lost his memory."
By a superhuman effort Lady Touchstone retained a hold upon her wits.... Valerie was out: the servants were not within call. It was a case for strategy.
"Has he?" she said, smiling. "How very awkward."
"He doesn't find it so," said Plague, staring. "As a matter of fact, he rather likes it. At the present moment he's my secretary. What's his name?"
Lady Touchstone side-stepped, as if by accident, towards the door.
"Oh, I shouldn't bother about his name," she said gaily. "What's— er— what's in a name?"
Sir Andrew choked.
"But— but you know him!" he cried, jerking his head at the table. "You must. Don't you want to hear news of him? I tell you he's in my service."
"Of course he is," said Lady Touchstone. "Oh, and devoted to you," she added ecstatically.
"Madam," said Plague, trembling, "this pleasantry is ill-timed. If that man means nothing to you—"
"But he does," cried Lady Touchstone earnestly, regarding the Louis XV table with starting eyes. "He does indeed."
"Then don't you want," raved Sir Andrew, "to know where he is?"
"I’d— I’d give anything," wailed Lady Touchstone frenziedly trying to preserve her mental poise.
"Well, I can tell you," roared Plague. "I've just left him. He's in Kensi
ngton Palace Gardens."
Lady Touchstone's brain reeled.
Then—
"I know," she said brightly. "A charming spot. So open. I always think the air there— "
The look upon Sir Andrew's face cut short the sentence.
Twice the giant strove to speak— ineffectually.
At length—
"There," he said thickly, "the air is at least sincere. If we care for nobody, at least we do not advertise a regard which we do not feel." He passed to the door. "Madam, I take my leave. Why I came is of no consequence. I regret extremely that I should have disarranged your ferns, and still more that I should have revived an acquaintance which I shall strive to forget."
As he passed into the hall—
"Stop!" cried Lady Touchstone. "What on earth do you mean?"
Sir Andrew swung on his heel.
"Mean?"
"Mean. I thought you were mad." Sir Andrew recoiled. "You said there was a man on the table and— and other things. But never mind. Why am I insincere?"
"I said there was a man on the table?"
"You did indeed," said Lady Touchstone. "With Macbeth in his arms."
Plague started against the wall.
"I— said— that?"
"You did."
Sir Andrew looked wildly about him. Then he clapped his hands to his head.
"Then it's time I was gone," he said shakily. He seized his hat and stick. "I must be mad— raving. My fall...."
He lurched to the flat's door, opened it, blundered almost into the arms of Valerie French, muttered an apology and stumbled uncertainly downstairs....
Valerie stood in the doorway, watching him go, wide-eyed.
Presently she turned to her aunt.
"What on earth..."
"That," said Lady Touchstone faintly, "is the man. The one I met at the dentist's."
"But what— "
"Don't ask me," wailed her aunt, putting a hand to her head, "because I can't tell you. One of us is insane." She passed into the drawing-room and sank into a chair. "I came into this room to find him behind the sofa— enumerating ill-favoured devils."
"What?"
"It's a fact," said Lady Touchstone. "Then he began to see things. He declared there was a man on the table, and kept on demanding his name."
"What table?" said Valerie, staring.
"That one," said Lady Touchstone, pointing to the Louis XV. "He said he was in his service, and didn't I want to hear of him. All the time, as I tell you, he kept on demanding his name. As if I— Whatever's the matter?"
Vouchsafing no answer, Valerie flashed from the room. A moment later she was flying downstairs....
Hill Street appeared to be empty.
With a beating heart she rushed to the nearest corner....
Upon being interrogated the policeman had seen no one at all corresponding to her description of Sir Andrew Plague. Desperately she turned and ran in the opposite direction....
After a fruitless ten minutes she burst into the flat.
Weakly her aunt regarded her.
"What was his name?" panted Valerie. "What was his name?"
The revival of this terrible query confirmed Lady Touchstone's worst fears. Insanity was in the air.
With an unearthly shriek she clapped her hands over her ears and subsided upon the floor.
As a servant came running—
"What," said Valerie, "was that gentleman's name?"
For a moment the man hesitated.
Then—
"Sir Andrew Plague, miss."
A second later Valerie was at the telephone....
After an interminable delay—
"Is that Sir Andrew Plague's?" cried Valerie French.
"It is," said Anthony Lyveden.
5: Fallacy Row
"ANTHONY! Anthony!"
Anthony Lyveden swallowed.
Then—
"This is Sir Andrew Plague's," he said, speaking distinctly.
"Anthony! Don't you know me?" cried the voice.
The man frowned into the mouthpiece.
"I think you're making a mistake," he said quietly. "This is Sir An— "
"I know! I know!"
Anthony raised his eyebrows.
"Who is that speaking?" he said.
"It's me, Anthony. Me— Valerie!"
With an air of amused vexation, the man held off the receiver. After a moment he replaced it against his ear.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said, "but I assure you you're making a mistake. This is Sir Andrew Plague's, and I'm his secretary. Can I— — "
"It's Valerie, Anthony. Valerie— Valerie French."
The man took a deep breath.
"Could you— would you mind telling me what you want?" he said desperately. "Sir Andrew himself is out, but—"
"Isn't that Anthony Lyveden?"
"No," cried the man, "no."
"Then who is it?"
"It's..."
The sentence died there and then.
For a second of time the man stared at the telephone with a dropped jaw ...
Then he clapped his palm to the mouthpiece and set the receiver down.
"It's come!" he whispered. "It's come! My God, it's come!"
He began to tremble.
For a moment he sat, shaking. Then he rose to his feet and stepped to the bell....
A servant appeared.
"Answer the telephone," said the man. "Say I've been called away, and ask for the lady's telephone number and— and name."
The fellow took the receiver and picked up a pencil.
"Hullo?"
"Who's that?" flashed Valerie.
"May I have your number, m'm? The gentleman you were speakin' to has bin called away, m'm."
There was a long silence.
"Hullo?" said the servant, straining his ears. "Hullo, hullo?"
"Mayfair nine double nine," said Valerie, slowly.
"Mayfair nine double nine," repeated the servant, writing. "An', if you please, m'm, your name."
"Miss Valerie French."
The servant repeated her words. Then—
"Thank you, m'm. Good-bye, m'm."
Apologetically, he rang off.
Then he made his report to Anthony Lyveden and left the room.
For a while the latter stood motionless, staring out of a window and across the shadowy lawn. Presently he threw back his head and began to laugh....
Here his Sealyham appeared, leisurely patrolling the terrace and keeping a mistrustful eye upon a gardener whose attitude and demeanour were irregular— the one because he was clipping the edge of the grass, and the other because he found life weary and was grunting and sweating aggressively to advertise his misfortune.
"Hamlet," cried his master, "come here!" The dog obeyed gaily. "Young fellow me lad, we're off. The interval's over, and the curtain's up. I— have— been— found.... A lady's found me— a lady with a very nice voice. She seems to know me quite well, and she sounds as pleased as Punch. It's most embarrassing, Hamlet. Very exciting, you know, but frightfully awkward. Something's required of me. I ought to respond— make some sort of return. I must, of course. But ... I've got an attack of stage-fright, Hamlet. I've made my entrance, and now I've nothing to say. I haven't learned any lines— or, if I have, they're forgotten. I can't pick up any cues." Hamlet yawned luxuriously and then stretched himself nonchalantly. "Yes, that's all very well; but, then, you're not shy. I'll bet you've never seen your own father. But if you were to meet him to-morrow and you didn't like the way he wore his tail, you’d—"
The slam of the front door cut short the prophecy.
An instant later Sir Andrew Plague floundered into the room.
"Never again!" he roared. "Never again!" He shook his fist at Lyveden and flung himself into a chair. "I seek to read your riddle and get bogged for my pains. Bogged and badgered and fooled, till I lose my wits! Ugh! It serves me right," he added. "I was a fool to go."
His secretary stared at h
im, open-mouthed.
"B-but what's happened?" he stammered.
"Happened?" yelled his patron. "I've placed you, you long-limbed fool. Seen your photograph."
"Where?"
"Where I've been, you idiot. At that wretched woman's abode. The place is crammed full of stools. You can't move without falling over them. I fell over one into a gimcrack fernery and hurt my head. I meant to ask your name, but I talked rubbish— trash ... frightened Lady Touchstone to death.... But you're there all right." He waved his hand at the telephone. "Ring her up, you fool. Don't stand there gibbering. Ring her up and find out your name."
"I know it. A girl's just told me. She rang up ten minutes ago and knew my voice."
So soon as Sir Andrew could speak—
"Who?"
His secretary stepped to the table.
"Miss Valerie French," he read. "She rang up and asked if this was your house. When I said it was, she called me 'Anthony.' I thought she'd made a mistake, but she wouldn't have it. She said I was 'Anthony Lyveden.'"
"I've no doubt you are," said Plague. "But you've got some damned funny friends. What did you say?"
"Nothing. I was too rattled. I sent for William and told him to take her number."
"You never replied?"
Anthony shook his head.
"I couldn't," he said. "I was too much taken aback. But— "
The sudden stammer of the telephone-bell erased the sentence.
For a moment the two men looked at each other....
Then Sir Andrew rose and grabbed the receiver.
"Yes?" he said fiercely. "Who's that?"
At the other end of the line Lady Touchstone repressed a scream.
"It's— it's me," she said faintly. Sir Andrew started violently. "Harriet Touchstone.... There's— there's been a terrible mistake.... I believe you were trying to tell me that a friend of ours was with you."
"That," said Sir Andrew heavily, "was my ambition. But you— "
"I know. It was dreadfully stupid. But when you spoke of Hamlet, I— "
"Hamlet?" screeched Plague. "You said 'Macbeth'!"
"I mean Macbeth."
"No, you don't!" yelled Sir Andrew. "Hamlet's his dog."
"Macbeth's?"
"No, no, NO! What's-his-name's. Er— er— Augustus."
Lady Touchstone laid down her receiver and looked at her niece.
Valerie French (1923) Page 10
