‘For God’s sake, don’t make a scene!’ he said angrily. ‘Stop crying, now. Stop it! Or your tears will mess up your face.’
With an effort Margery checked her sobbing, dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and, walking over to the mirror, pulled out her compact to make good the traces of tears left on her cheeks.
Sam was furious and he let himself go. ‘You must be downright wicked to say such a thing to me on my wedding-day. Hemmingway’s my best man and my best friend. I’d trust him anywhere with anything, and I’d trust Lavina to the limit, too. It’s just your rotten, filthy imagination.’
She turned then, and faced him calmly. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. Terribly sorry. I should never have said that but I did believe it at the time. It was something in their attitude to each other that I can’t explain, and my wicked jealousy, I suppose. You see, Lavina’s always had everything—everything I’ve ever wanted; even the rather second-rate boy-friends, whom she couldn’t be bothered with but I would so gladly have had, all fell for her.’
Sam stared at her and realised for the first time that she was quite young, not more than twenty-six, and definitely good-looking. Not beautiful like Lavina, but very attractive in her own way; which must have made it all the harder for her that she had had to play the drudge’s part while Lavina had all the fun.
Suddenly overwhelmed with a great wave of pity he put his arms round her and kissed her. ‘You poor kid,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean it. Let’s never think of it again.’
INSIDE INFORMATION
The day after Sam and Lavina were married life at Stapleton Court resumed its uneventful routine. The big reception rooms were closed once more; the caterers had removed all traces of the wedding feast. Gervaise and his elder daughter, Margery, were once again in sole possession of the derelict Georgian mansion; unless one counted an entirely new and disturbing factor which had suddenly entered their quiet lives—the prisoner in the nursery.
After the departure of the wedding guests Gervaise had called in Derek Burroughs, told him of the events which had led up to the decision that Fink-Drummond must be kept a prisoner of the next few weeks and secured his assistance in putting the ex-Cabinet Minister to bed.
It was not until five o’clock the following afternoon that Fink-Drummond came out of his cataleptic state but as soon as he had recovered sufficiently to think and talk coherently he created a very pretty scene.
Gervaise had been sitting in the room reading a book while he waited for his prisoner to come round and he explained at once that, although he disliked Mr. Fink-Drummond very much indeed, he felt himself compelled, in the interests of national safety, to offer him his hospitality for some time to come. Neither arguments nor threats could induce him to take a refusal and he backed up his statement by producing an antiquated revolver that had seen service in the Boer War.
Fink-Drummond raged and stormed. He declared that all the forces of the law should be brought into operation the second he was free; that he would sue the lot of them for conspiracy and forcible detention and that they should see the inside of a prison.
Gervaise pointed out that, if the world came to an end on June 24th, none of them would have to bother themselves on that score. And, on the other hand, if it did not, Mr. Fink-Drummond might possibly be induced to reconsider his decision when he was restored to freedom as, whatever penalties the Law might award against those who had detained him, prosecution and the attendant publicity could only result in his being hounded out of the country.
This gave Fink-Drummond furiously to think and Gervaise left him still thinking; although he took care to shoot the two bolts which he had fixed on the outside of the door that morning, before going downstairs to drink a glass of old Madeira in his comfortable library.
The nursery suite consisted of day-nursery, night-nursery and bathroom. The windows of all three were barred and looked out upon the deserted stable-yard, which was well away from the tradesmen’s entrance; so Gervaise was reasonably confident that his prisoner could not escape providing a watchful eye was kept upon him in case he started taking up the floor-boards in order to break out through the ceiling below, or something of that kind.
There was, however, one possible danger. Fink-Drummond had to be fed and, although Gervaise intended to take every possible precaution when taking his food to him, in so long a period as six weeks the prisoner might well think of some subtle way in which to surprise, attack and overcome his gaoler. If that occurred since Margery was the only other person in the house, Fink-Drummond would have a free field for escape. In less than a couple of hours he would be back in London, beyond all possible hope of recapture, and free to develop his own schemes which might bring about untold misery and disaster.
Having considered this problem, Gervaise decided to call in Derek as a permanent Assistant Gaoler and, after dinner that evening, he strolled over to see his neighbour.
Derek was willing enough to co-operate but his farm and hothouses were his livelihood and at such a season it would have caused him grievous loss to abandon them permanently. Had he been convinced that the end of the world was really approaching, he would have done so, but he did not believe in the predicted catastrophe for one moment.
However, he put forward a suggestion. Gervaise’s nephew, Roy, was back in London doing nothing, and so hard-up that he could not do it with any enjoyment. Couldn’t he be persuaded to come down to stay and help his uncle look after the prisoner?
Gervaise considered for a moment. ‘That might serve us for a week or so, but by the end of that time I fear Roy would be so bored with the quiet life he would have to lead that he’d refuse to stick it any longer. Besides—I can be quite frank with you, Derek—although I don’t suggest that he’s a drunkard, Roy likes his liquor and from that point of view I’m afraid he’s too expensive a guest for me to entertain for such a period.’
‘I think we can get over that,’ Derek smiled. ‘As long as he’s with you each time you take a meal up to Fink-Drummond that’s all you really want him for.’
‘True. The essential thing is that two people should be present whenever his door is unlocked.’
‘Then for the rest of the time there’s no reason why Roy shouldn’t get out and about a bit. He’s always liked the country. I’ll lend him a horse to ride each morning and there’s a golf club nearby at Dorking where I could make him a member. He can fish your lake and swim a bit if the weather’s decent; so I don’t think he’ll be too bored.’
‘How about the evenings, though?’
‘Oh, I’ll come over in the evenings to make up a four at Bridge, or take him down to the “George” where he can get a game of billiards. Roy’s a lazy, shiftless devil, but he’s a most amusing companion so I shouldn’t mind looking after him. As for the drink question, I think we’re old enough friends for you not to mind my sending you in a case or two of whisky to keep him going while he’s in the house.’
‘That’s very good of you, Derek—very good of you indeed. I think I can manage the whisky, though, providing you’re game to take him about so that he’s not running me up a bill for a case of Scotch a week.’
‘Right. Let’s telephone him now, then, shall we?’
They got on to Oliver for Roy’s address and managed to locate him at a small Bloomsbury hotel. It was impossible to explain over the telephone the real reason for his being required at Stapleton Court, but Roy’s lack of funds brought him to the quick decision that a week or so in the country would be a welcome economy at the moment. With his usual optimism he was now considering Lavina’s half-promise, that Sam might get him a job, as a certainty, so he had no intention whatever of looking for anything else in the meantime and had to hang out somehow until Sir Samuel and Lady Curry returned from their honeymoon. He therefore accepted his uncle’s invitation at once and said that he would be down for lunch the following day.
It was so long since the nursery suite at Stapleton Court had been occupied that, apart from the bed which
Gervaise and Derek had made up for Fink-Drummond, all the furniture was so dusty one could write one’s name on it; so next morning Margery set about giving the rooms a thorough spring-cleaning.
Fink-Drummond had to resign himself to being locked in the bathroom meanwhile, but he did not protest as it was clear that his gaolers were doing their best to make him comfortable. Gervaise brought him up a supply of books in the afternoon and at the same time produced Roy, who had been told over luncheon of the real reason he had been summoned to the country.
Derek came in that evening and put up various suggestions for Roy’s entertainment during his stay and the ne’er-do-well accepted the situation quite cheerfully; in fact, he found it rather novel and amusing, as his duties consisted of no more than accompanying his uncle up to the prisoner’s room three or four times a day.
Fortunately, the weather was good so Roy was able to get out of the house most days for several hours, and as he was an excellent mixer he soon formed a little crowd of cronies with whom he played darts and exchanged bawdy stories at the ‘local’, on such evenings as Derek could not drive over and make up a table for Bridge.
The days drifted by, May passing into June quite uneventfully. An occasional postcard came from Lavina and Sam. They were somewhere in the foot-hills of the Pyrenees, staying at small places right off the beaten track and thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Hemmingway Hughes’ scheme for covering Fink-Drummond’s disappearance had worked entirely according to plan. There had been great excitement for a few days. Headlines in the papers, Royal Air Force squadrons fruitlessly searching the grey wastes of the Eastern Atlantic. Then, with amazing rapidity, other news had filled the papers; Fink-Drummond, Rupert Brand and the Marchesa del Serilla were assumed drowned. Beatrice Fink-Drummond bought herself some very light widow’s weeds on her arrival in New York and no one but their intimate friends gave them another thought.
It had been agreed that, in the event of Fink-Drummond’s escaping, Hemmingway should be informed at once but, apart from occasional storms of abuse which grew less frequent as time wore on, the prisoner gave no trouble; so there had been no reason to ring up St. James’s Square. On the 2nd June, however, Hemmingway telephoned to say that he would very much like to have a talk with both Gervaise and Oliver Stapleton; so it was arranged that he and Oliver should motor down and lunch at Stapleton Court the following day.
When Hemmingway arrived he appeared as calm and inscrutable as ever, but after lunch he disclosed the fact that he was extremely worried. The Government had, so far, succeeded in keeping from the public the news that a comet was approaching, but in the three weeks since Sam’s wedding a constantly increasing circle of people had become acquainted with the fact. This was already affecting the markets and, as the rumours spread, it was certain that they would soon precipitate a really serious situation. Stocks were not slumping yet, as the general public were still buying, but many of the big financiers were unloading heavily with a view to buying in again at much lower levels during the panic which was certain to ensue directly knowledge of the comet’s approach became general. In consequence, it was to be expected that when the small money was exhausted the markets would break and shares plunge headlong.
To protect Sam’s interests Hemmingway could only do as the other big men were doing but he felt that a crisis, all unknown to the public, was rapidly approaching.
The situation abroad was much the same as at home. Hemmingway had learned through Foreign Office sources that conversations had been entered into on the subject of the comet with every foreign Government. By mutual consent all controversial problems had been shelved for the time being. This had caused a sudden lessening of international tension and was one of the factors which caused the little man to have a renewed feeling of confidence and so more readily support the markets.
The Governments had already reached agreement upon the point that no useful purpose could be gained by allowing the danger to become known prematurely and, with the willing cooperation of their Press chiefs, were exercising a rigid censorship. They were now discussing the problem of mutual aid in the event of the comet’s damaging one area of the earth’s surface but leaving the others comparatively unaffected.
In fact, since the rulers of the world now took the approaching danger with extreme seriousness, it was rapidly bringing about a spirit of goodwill which had long been lacking from the international situation.
The great majority of the people in the know, however, still assumed that the comet was composed only of gas and meteorites. They believed that, even if it got drawn into the earth’s orbit, it would do no more than cause grave disturbances among the terrified masses; which would quickly subside once it had disintegrated and its great shower of meteorites had embedded themselves in the earth.
That many of the meteorites would cause considerable destruction was unquestioned; but, according to Hemmingway, the Governments at home and abroad were allaying their own fears by the supposition that no more havoc would be caused through this heavenly bombardment than might be expected from an intensive but brief aerial attack brought about by the major nations going to war with each other. In view of the fact that for some years past they had all been prepared to face intensive bombing for days, if not weeks and months, they were not unduly perturbed at the thought of showers of meteorites descending for an hour or two.
Many buildings would be wrecked, large casualties were to be anticipated, their heaviness depending upon the size of the meteorites. If some of these were as large as the largest which had struck the earth in historic times, the shock of each might devastate the country for miles around the spot where they fell. But there seemed good reason to suppose that, once the ordeal was over the dead would be buried, the buildings would be erected again and life go on much as before.
Numerous astronomers of various nationalities were of Oliver Stapleton’s opinion that the comet was a solid one and the probability was that it would shatter the earth altogether; but, as ‘hope springs eternal in the human breast’, the majority of the national leaders refused to accept this view, realising perhaps that even if it were correct there was nothing whatsoever that they could do about it.
When lunch was over and they were gathered in the library, Hemmingway, having given his own news, asked Oliver the result of his latest observations; upon which the untidy astronomer lit one of his Burma cheroots, drew upon it, and replied:
‘I’m sorry to say I’ve found no reason whatever to change my opinion. Of course, if the various Governments choose to hide their heads in the sand like ostriches, that is their affair. But the spectroscope does not lie; and there are certain shadings in the analysis of the comet which now convince me absolutely that it is solid. A number of my most distinguished colleagues here and abroad entirely agree with me. A greater number do not do so openly and, in my opinion, are giving their Governments false hope. Their reason for doing so doubtless is that, if they are proved wrong and the world is shattered to bits, there will be no one left to accuse them of being false prophets afterwards; whereas, if they admit that the comet is solid now and it proves not to be so after all, they will have to live on with reputations which have been seriously damaged.’
‘Are you quite sure, though, that the thing will be drawn into our orbit?’ Derek, who had also been invited to the lunch party, inquired.
‘Oh, yes. There’s no longer any question about that. The comet’s track is so exactly plotted now that we are all agreed that it can’t possibly avoid coming well within the sphere of the earth’s gravitational influence.’
‘And June 24th’s the jolly day,’ Roy laughed, a little uncertainly, and took the opportunity to help himself to another ration of the old Madeira that Gervaise had got up for the others before lunch. ‘What time does the balloon go up, honoured father?’
Oliver’s mild blue eyes turned towards his flippant son. ‘10.55 p.m., my boy. That, of course, is the time at which the comet is actually due to impinge on
the North Pacific; but we may well be dead long before then.’
‘What’ll we have to fear before the crash?’ Hemmingway inquired.
‘All sorts of unpleasant things. As you probably know, the crust of the earth is thinner, by comparison, than the skin of an orange. Its whole interior is still a molten mass with, we now believe, a solid core at its centre. Directly the comet is near enough for the earth to feel its influence, the centrifugal values of the earth are bound to change. The solid core, if it exists, will respond to the pull of gravity and, instead of continuing to rotate on a constant axis, will revolve on one moving in an increasing spiral following that part of the earth’s surface which, as the earth turns, is nearest to the approaching comet. In any case, the mass of molten matter under the earth’s crust is bound to be affected, which will cause many volcanoes to become active. There will be terrific eruptions and almost certainly major earthquakes long before the comet hits us.’
‘At all events, we may console ourselves with the thought that Britain is well away from the earthquake zones,’ Gervaise remarked.
‘True,’ Oliver nodded, ‘but these seismic disturbances will give rise to other serious happenings. Britain is hardly likely to be affected by the first shocks but, as the earthquake belt passes from Iceland through the Azores and thence to the more southern of the West Indies, we may anticipate great upheavals under the sea which will cause tidal waves to pile up on both sides of the Atlantic. It is even possible that they might be so vast as to sweep right over Great Britain.’
‘Another flood,’ interjected Hemmingway.
‘Exactly. You may remember the legend of The Lost Atlantis. Most scientists regard that as a myth but during the last century many myths have been proved to be race-memories of actual occurrences. It is said that a great island continent, as large as France and Germany put together, once occupied the centre of the Atlantic and that it was submerged with all its people about 11, 500 years ago in one terrible day and night of tempest, earthquake and flood. Such a cataclysm might well have been caused by a comet coming very near the earth, or as some people believe, a comet actually colliding with it, and it’s quite on the cards that a similar fate might overtake us.’
Sixty Days to Live Page 7
