Tish Marches On

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  “Sorry. All applications must be made by mail.”

  In desperation we finally went to the Yard ourselves that afternoon, and after a long wait we saw the same Commissioner we had seen before. Evidently he remembered us, for he simply looked up and said:

  “What! Another plot!”

  “The same one,” said Tish coldly. “Only I am happy to report that the gang is now safely locked away.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “Splendid, one less gang, eh? I’d better get the gang file. Jewkes! Where’s Jewkes?”

  I saw Tish draw a long breath.

  “Inspector Jewkes,” she said, “is locked away also.”

  He seemed quite unimpressed. He said absently: “Well, well. Good for old Jewkes. Probably very interesting for him, eh?” Then he picked up the telephone, said “chump chops and chips” into it, and rose.

  “Sorry, ladies,” he said. “Big day. Coronation tomorrow. Have to trot along now.”

  He was almost out of the room when Tish confronted him.

  “In a dungeon,” she stated, “and not having chump chops and chips, either. If that means anything to you.”

  But he only looked at her vaguely.

  “Too bad,” he said. “He was fond of them too, poor fellow.”

  On that he simply went out the door and left us there. And it was on the way home that we unexpectedly saw Mr. Smith.

  He was on the top of a taxicab, with an American flag in one hand and a tin horn in another; and every now and then he would yell: “Their majesties, bless their young hearts.” Quite a crowd had collected, and he had just started to yell again when his eyes fell on us, and he remained with his mouth open, staring. Then he shouted:

  “Here, let me out, I want those women. Police! Police!”

  He started to climb down, and Tish at once moved rapidly down the street. But he kept on after us, calling for the police, and at last Tish stepped into a doorway and dragged us in after her.

  It was all most unpleasant, especially as he had now almost overtaken us. Fortunately, we discovered in time where we were, and were able to pay our way and enter before he reached us. It was Madame Tussaud’s waxworks, and never have I so appreciated Tish’s clear thinking as at that moment.

  “Mix with the figures,” she said. “And stand perfectly still.”

  It was near closing time and the rooms were almost empty, only a woman with a small boy being near, and thus we were able to dispose of ourselves quickly in the Chamber of Horrors. The lights being dim, my only fear was that Aggie would sneeze. And then that awful child came and stood in front of me, and stared for a long time.

  “This lady winked, mother,” he said in a loud voice.

  “Don’t tell me lies, young man,” said his mother.

  “But she did wink,” he persisted, “I saw her.”

  They were still arguing over this when Mr. Smith came in. He was breathing hard, but after a look he was about to depart when that wretched boy, having moved to Aggie, stuck a toy feather duster in her face. As Aggie is allergic to feathers she sneezed immediately, and Mr. Smith started.

  “What was that?” he said in a savage voice.

  “Just my little boy,” said the woman. “Come here, Reginald, and let mother wipe your nose. He won’t wear his jacket, sir, and that’s a fact.”

  “I didn’t sneeze,” said the little monster. “It was that—”

  Here the woman slapped him for telling another falsehood, and at last they all departed, leaving us alone. Somewhere we could hear Mr. Smith insisting that we had come in and that he was staying until we came out again. But as it was already closing time he was obliged to leave, and we could then face our situation.

  It was bad indeed. The lights went out almost at once, and soon after the entrance was closed and locked. How can I describe our sensations, left alone in that weird spot, with the lifelike effigies of dreadful criminals all around us? Nor were matters improved when, after making a reconnaissance, Tish reported that Mr. Smith was still outside the entrance and that he was talking to a constable. Also that some cleaners had appeared, and we could not long hope to remain undiscovered.

  Rarely have I put in such a night. The constable never moved, and to add to our misery was the fact that soon the Coronation would commence and that, after all we had endured, we would not see it.

  But I had counted without Tish, and at three in the morning she came to me with her idea. This was merely to exchange our outer garments for those of various figures near by, preferably male, and thus be able to escape the constable’s eye. And this in the end was what we did: Aggie chose those of an Indian potentate in a turban and so on; I donned with some repugnance a street sweeper’s outfit, with brush and pan; Tish took the uniform from a policeman who had murdered his wife.

  This, I think, fully explains our costumes on the morning of the Coronation; and the necessity which drove us to them. It also explains the terrified shrieks from one of the charwomen, and her statement to the press later.

  “Of course I screamed,” she said. “What would you ’ave done? I looked up from my pail and there was those three bloody murderers as I ’ave dusted for fifteen years, coming at me in a row.”

  It was gray dawn when we reached the street. As no taxis or cars were allowed, it was already jammed with people, and with great relief we lost ourselves among them; Tish observing that having done our duty we could now look forward to a bath and breakfast, and later to the Coronation itself with peaceful minds.

  But it was not to be. When we approached our building we saw Charlie Sands outside talking to the hall porter. He seemed in a frenzy of rage, and we heard him clear across the street.

  “But damn it, man,” he shouted, “when did they go? And where?”

  “That would be the night before last, sir,” said the porter. “As to where, that I couldn’t say. They had an inspector from Scotland Yard along, that’s all I know.”

  Well, he looked stupefied, and just then a most astonishing thing happened. Dirty and unshaven, the Carlisle man came running up the street, followed by the rest of the gang, and Charlie Sands gave him a furious look and said:

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Someday,” said the Carlisle man, grinning, “when I’ve got a long, long time to spare, I’ll tell you.”

  Tish said nothing. I could see her marching on, in that dreadful uniform, and I merely followed her.

  I do not know just where we lost Aggie, although as events turned out, it was probably near Buckingham Palace. I do not know where some unidentified man thrust a street cleaner’s cart before me and told me to get a move on, or words to that effect. I do recall most vividly that when we went into a public washroom to perform our morning ablutions we were put out angrily by a red-faced woman, who asked us if we had no decency.

  But I do know when and where we saw Aggie again. It must have been eleven o’clock by that time, and what with Tish’s ominous silence and pushing the cart ahead of me, I was dropping on my feet. Then the crowd around us began to cheer, and we saw that we were on the route of march. The gold coach went by, with the young King and Queen inside, for all the world like fairy-tale royalty, and following them came the King’s Indian guard.

  On a horse among them, and looking completely agonized, was our unfortunate friend!

  How can I record our feelings! Every now and then the horse turned its head and took a nip at Aggie’s leg. And then, even as we watched, the tragedy occurred. A mounted band struck up close by, and that horse simply lifted his head, whirled, and bolted down a side street with Aggie clinging helplessly to his back.

  To our bewilderment was now added anxiety, and we spent the remainder of the morning searching for our beloved companion. It was, I think, in Kensington Gardens that Tish’s keen eyes at last saw a horse quietly grazing on the bank of the Round Pond, and a moment later we saw Aggie.

  To our amazement she was standing in the water up to her waist, and behaving in a most peculia
r manner. She would stand for a moment, take a firm grip on her nose and then disappear entirely. This she repeated several times; nor did she desist when we approached the bank.

  It was indeed some time before she even noticed us. Then she sneezed several times and said in a tragic voice:

  “I’be losth theb agaid.”

  “Lost what?” said Tish.

  “By teeth,” she replied, and dived once more.

  She discovered them at last and, as she was both lame and completely exhausted, we placed her in my cart and started for home.

  On the way she told her painful story. Stripped of the coryza which afflicts her at such times, it was quite simple. She had merely, on losing us, wandered about until she found herself outside the gate of Buckingham Palace. Here, to her surprise, an excited-looking man in black satin knee breeches had seen her and led her inside.

  There she found a number of Indian rajahs and so on, dressed much as she was; and before she knew it someone was holding a horse in front of her and telling her to get on.

  The rest, alas, we knew.

  VI

  THAT IS REALLY THE end of my record, and I do not believe that Tish was greatly surprised when, on reaching home, we found Inspector Jewkes waiting for us inside.

  He was red with fury, and with a roar he rushed forward and caught Tish by the arm.

  “Well, madam,” he said ferociously, “you have had your little joke. Now I will have mine.”

  But he did not have it just then. Undoubtedly Tish was in an extremely nervous state, although usually the mildest of women. His onslaught apparently startled her, and with a jerk she tore my street broom from my hand and threatened him with it.

  He ran straight into it, and we were all astonished to see him fall down and lie still.

  This is the so-called “Brutal Attack On Scotland Yard Inspector,” but the whole idea is preposterous. Nor did we cut him on the lip, as reported. He, himself, struck the fender as he dropped.

  As for saying that we were preparing to attack him again when he recovered consciousness, I have never heard such nonsense. Aggie’s action in seizing the poker was pure self defense.

  But it was a comfort, on being taken to Scotland Yard, to find ourselves facing the same commissioner as before. He seemed amused about something, and he surveyed the Inspector’s lip with interest.

  “Injuries received in the line of duty, Jewkes?” he inquired.

  “Knocked down by these women—if they are women, in those clothes!” the Inspector snarled. “And a fine bunch of wildcats they are, sir. First I’m locked up in a damp cellar and then I’m attacked. They’d be put away for life, if I had my way.”

  “Tut, tut,” said the Commissioner. “We have to allow for the American sense of humor, Jewkes.”

  The Inspector fairly swelled with rage.

  “All I can say, sir—if you think it’s funny—”

  The Commissioner looked at us and coughed.

  “Well, it has its aspects, Jewkes,” he said. “It has its aspects.”

  But at last we were able to tell the Commissioner our story, from first to last, and he seemed much interested. Indeed, he said that it sounded better than fiction.

  “Not often we get such things here,” he said. “Very drab life usually. Very drab.” Then he brightened. “So you locked old Jewkes up! Do him good probably. Get pretty well fed up with him myself.”

  Also sometime during that interval they brought in Mr. Smith, and asked him if he knew us. He seemed literally to swell with rage.

  “Know them!” he shouted. “Do I know them! Listen, I’ve been chasing them from New Jersey and the Atlantic Ocean to somebody’s waxworks. They stole the best blimp ever built, and now it’s beyond hope. Gone, destroyed!”

  “Oh,” said the Commissioner with an air of relief. “Then you don’t expect me to blow it up for you.”

  But the really important incident occurred when they brought in Bettina Pell. She went quite pale when she saw us, and also when she looked at the Inspector’s lip. It was, however, what she said that left us thunderstruck.

  “Jim Carlisle had played a nasty trick on me,” she said, in a small voice. “So I wanted to get even. It was—well, it was really a joke.”

  “You get that, Jewkes?” said the Commissioner. “The American sense of humor again. Eh, what?”

  “I got it, right enough,” said Inspector Jewkes grimly.

  Bettina looked frightened.

  “That’s all,” she said. “I only meant to shut them up overnight and give them a scare. I’d told them that the women from the Snark were hiding there, and I showed them an agreement signed by Miss Carberry. So they went, and—well, that’s all.”

  She then began to cry, and said that we had taken matters into our own hands and locked up Inspector Jewkes too. And that we had lost the key, and anyhow she couldn’t let them out or the Inspector would have arrested her.

  “And I had my Coronation piece to do,” she said.

  The Commissioner looked interested again.

  “Ah,” he said. “So they lost the key, eh? Then how the devil did you get out, Jewkes?”

  Then we saw the Inspector smile for the first and only time.

  “The ladies had left us a can opener,” he said.

  Well, as I have said, that is really all of the story. Save for one thing. Late that afternoon Charlie Sands appeared, and after looking us over, disclaimed us entirely. But I find that I omitted what he said before he departed.

  “Not today,” he said, “but sometime, when I am feeling stronger, I want to hear just why you locked up my camera crew and damned near ruined me.”

  That, I think, completes the record. We were released that evening, but we had great difficulty in getting back into our flat, the head porter at first refusing to admit us. When at last he recognized us he leered most unpleasantly.

  “Look as though you’d been ’aving a night out, not ’alf,” he said.

  Tish was very silent that night, but how thankful we were to get out of those terrible clothes, and having bathed, to sit quietly over a cup of hot tea. But we did not go to bed. The noise overhead prohibited it.

  We were sitting by the fire, Tish knitting and Aggie with her feet in a hot mustard foot bath, when we heard the door open overhead, and the noise coming down the stairs. It was apparently all the crowd from above, and it was singing: “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”

  I tried to close the door, but it was too late. They were already coming into the room, and to our amazement Inspector Jewkes and the Carlisle man had Bettina Pell by the arms. They shoved her forward and then stood back.

  “All right,” said Mr. Carlisle. “Now, my girl, make your little speech.”

  I must say she looked very pretty, although rather scared. But she stepped forward and said:

  “I’m sorry, I’m frightfully sorry for getting you into trouble. And—”

  There she stopped, and the Carlisle man prompted her. “And I promise—”

  “And I promise never to do it again.”

  “Go on,” said Mr. Carlisle.

  She swallowed hard.

  “I am a mean and vindictive person. I have no professional ethics and no sense of decency. And I—I forget the rest of it, Jim.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said firmly. “Get on with it.”

  “And I promise to be a good girl hereafter so that Jim Carlisle may marry me someday.”

  “Right,” said the Carlisle man. And with that they all turned solemnly and went up the stairs again. …

  It seems a long time now since all that happened. It turned out that Mr. Smith’s dirigible was insured, and the case never came to trial. But now and then I have dreams, when I see Aggie so mysteriously holding her nose and diving into the Round Pond. Or Tish, marching on in her policeman’s uniform, while I trundle that awful cart before me.

  But my real nightmare is of standing rigid in Madame Tussaud’s waxworks, and hearing that wretched little boy bl
eat:

  “This lady winked, mother.”

  Now and then Charlie Sands comes in for a glass of our blackberry cordial, and only the other night he observed that Bettina had just been married. We were not surprised, but Tish remarked that she hoped she would make a good wife.

  “He was a good-looking man,” she said thoughtfully. “And he was firm. I am sure that she needs firmness.”

  Charlie Sands stared at her.

  “Who on earth are you talking about?” he inquired.

  “Didn’t you say she had married Jim Carlisle?”

  “I didn’t say,” he observed dryly. “As a matter of fact she married Jewkes.”

  That is all. But the other day I was helping Tish to clean out her desk and came across a small slip of paper. It was a list, and it read as follows: Bottled water, blankets, bread, candles, matches, sardines, and can opener.

  I looked at Tish, but she had not noticed it; and so, unseen, I was able to throw it away.

  THE MOUSE

  I

  ONLY THE OTHER DAY our dear Tish observed that the attempt to help humanity was always an ungrateful one. To support this she quoted the incident of the mouse, and the attitude of Charlie Sands, her nephew, when he found her tied to the bed in the psychopathic ward of our local hospital. She had been on the board of that hospital for years, but no one had even recognized her. As to Charlie Sands himself, his manner was cold and even resentful when, having at last discovered her, he stood over her bed and gazed down at her.

  “What does this mean?” was his opening speech, in a stern voice. “Open your eyes and look at me. What about an elephant?”

  And when she tried to tell him about where she had left Aggie, and about the elephant and so on, the doctor—who should have known better—said that this was merely a delusion. Nor were things better about the peanuts, although that should have been obvious.

  “All right,” said Charlie Sands. “I get some of it. According to you Aggie has been captured by an elephant and Lizzie has lost her hat. But you are here. What I want to know is why you are here. And how.”