The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club lpw-5
Page 26
“How about a drink. Colonel?” said Wimsey.
They went into the bar, which was just preparing to close for the night. Several other men were there, talking over their plans for Christmas.
“I’m getting away south,” said Tin-Tummy Challoner. “I’m fed up with this climate and this country.”
“I wish you’d look us up, Wimsey,” said another man. “We could give you some very decent shooting. We’re having a sort of house-party; my wife, you know — must have all these young people round — awful crowd of women. But I’m getting one or two men who can play bridge and handle a gun, and it would be a positive charity to see me through. Deadly season, Christmas. Can’t think why they invented it.”
“It’s all right if you’ve got kids,” interrupted a large, red-faced man with a bald head. “The little beggars enjoy it. You ought to start a family, Anstruther.”
“All very well,” said Anstruther, “you’re cut out by nature to dress up as Father Christmas. I tell you, what with one thing and another, entertaining and going about, and the servants we have to keep in a place like ours, it’s a job to keep things going. If you know of a good thing, I wish you’d put me on to it. It’s not as though—”
“Hallo!” said Challoner, “what was that?”
“Motor-bike, probably,” said Anstruther. “As I was saying, it’s not as though—”
“Something’s happened,” broke in the red-faced man, setting down his glass.
There were voices, and the running to and fro of feet. The door was flung open.
Startled faces turned towards it.
Wetheridge burst in, pale and angry.
“I say, you fellows,” he cried, “here’s another unpleasantness. Penberthy’s shot himself in the library. People ought to have more consideration for the members. Where’s Culyer?”
Wimsey pushed his way out into the entrance-hall. There, as he had expected, he found the plainclothes detective who had been told off to shadow Penberthy.
“Send for Inspector Parker,” he said. “I have a paper to give him. Your job’s over; it’s the end of the case.”
Post-Mortem
“And George is all right again now?”
“Thank heaven, yes — getting on splendidly. The doctor says he worked himself into it, just out of worry lest he should be suspected. It never occurred to me — but then George is very quick at putting two and two together.”
“Of course he knew he was one of the last people to see his grandfather.”
“Yes, and seeing the name on the bottle — and the police coming—”
“That did it. And you’re sure he’s all right?”
“Oh, rather. The minute he knew that it was all cleared up, he seemed to come out from under a blanket. He sent you all sorts of messages, by the way.”
“Well, as soon as he’s fit you must come and dine with me…”
* * *
“… A simple case, of course, as soon as you had disentangled the Robert part of it.”
“A damned unsatisfactory case, Charles. Not the kind I like. No real proof.”
“Nothing in it for us, of course. Just as well it never came to trial, though. With juries you never know.”
“No; they might have let Penberthy off; or convicted them both.”
“Exactly. If you ask me, I think Ann Dorland is a very lucky young woman.”
“Oh, God! — you would say that…”
* * *
“… Yes, of course, I’m sorry for Naomi Rushworth. But she needn’t be so spiteful. She goes about hinting that of course dear Walter was got over by that Dorland girl and sacrificed himself to save her.”
“Well, that’s natural, I suppose. You thought Miss Dorland had done it yourself at one time, you know, Marjorie.”
“I didn’t know then about her being engaged to Penberthy. And I think he deserved all he got… Well, I know he’s dead, but it was a rotten way to treat a girl, and Ann’s far too good for that kind of thing. People have a perfect right to want love-affairs. You men always think…”
“Not me, Marjorie. I don’t think.”
“Oh, you! You’re almost human. I’d almost take you on myself if you asked me. You don’t feel inclined that way, I suppose?”
“My dear — if a great liking and friendship were enough, I would — like a shot. But that wouldn’t satisfy you, would it?”
“It wouldn’t satisfy you, Peter. I’m sorry. Forget it.”
“I won’t forget it. It’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever had paid me. Great Scott! I only wish…”
“There! that’s all right, you needn’t make a speech. And you won’t go away tactfully forever, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“And you won’t be embarrassed?”
“No, I won’t be embarrassed. Portrait of a young man poking the fire to bits to indicate complete freedom from embarrassment. Let’s go and feed somewhere, shall we?…”
*****
“… Well, and how did you get on with the heiress and the lawyers and all that lot?”
“Oh! there was a long argument. Miss Dorland insisted on dividing the money, and I said no, I couldn’t think of it. She said it was only hers as the result of a crime, and Pritchard and Murbles said she wasn’t responsible for other people’s crimes. And I said it would look like my profiting by my own attempt at fraud, and she said, not at all, and we went on and on, don’t you know. That’s a damned decent girl, Wimsey.”
“Yes, I know. The moment I found she preferred burgundy to champagne I had the highest opinion of her.”
“No, really — there’s something very fine and straightforward about her.”
“Oh, yes — not a bad girl at all; though I shouldn’t have said she was quite your sort.”
“Why not?”
“Well — arty and all that. And her looks aren’t her strong point.”
“You needn’t be offensive, Wimsey. Surely I may be allowed to appreciate a woman of intelligence and character. I may not be highbrow, but I have some ideas beyond the front row of the chorus. And what that girl went through with that blighter Penberthy makes my blood boil.”
“Oh, you’ve heard all about that?”
“I have. She told me, and I respected her for it. I thought it most courageous of her. It’s about time somebody brought a little brightness into that poor girl’s life. You don’t realise how desperately lonely she has been. She had to take up that art business to give her an interest, poor child, but she’s really cut out for an ordinary, sensible, feminine life. You may not understand that, with your ideas, but she has really a very sweet nature.”
“Sorry, Fentiman.”
“She made me ashamed, the way she took the whole thing. When I think of the trouble I got her into, owing to my damned dishonest tinkering about with — you know—”
“My dear man, you were perfectly providential. If you hadn’t tinkered about, as you say, she’d be married to Penberthy by now.”
“That’s true — and that makes it so amazing of her to forgive me. She loved that blighter, Wimsey. You don’t know. It’s absolutely pathetic.”
“Well, you’ll have to do your best to make her forget it.”
“I look on that as a duty, Wimsey.”
“Just so. Doing anything tonight? Care to come and look at a show?”
“Sorry — I’m booked. Taking Miss Dorland to the new thing at the Palladium, in fact. Thought it’d do her good — buck her up and so on.”
“Oh? — good work! — Here’s luck to it…”
* * *
“… and the cooking is getting perfectly disgraceful. I spoke to Culyer about it only yesterday. But he won’t do anything. I don’t know what’s the good of the committee. This Club isn’t half what it used to be. In fact, Wimsey, I’m thinking of resigning.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Wetheridge. It wouldn’t be the same place without you.”
“Look at all the disturbance th
ere has been lately. Police and reporters — and then Penberthy blowing his brains out in the library. And the coal’s all slate. Only yesterday something exploded like a shell — I assure you, exactly like a shell — in the card-room; and as nearly as possible got me in the eye. I said to Culyer, ‘This must not occur again.’ You may laugh, but I knew a man who was blinded by a thing popping out suddenly like that. These things never happened before the War, and — great heavens! William! Look at this wine! Smell it! Taste it! Corked? Yes, I should think it was corked! My God! I don’t know what’s come to this Club.”
The End
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