Chandos looked up and smiled.
“No doubt about that,” he said. “Friend Bogy’s wire would have blown our endeavours to bits.”
“‘Would have’?” said I. “But how on earth can we stop it?”
“We can’t,” said Mansel. “But we can forestall it – and that’s what we’re going to do. The chauffeur should be in London by half-past three today. A wire will be sent from London at half-past four. It won’t be sent by Bogy, but Plato will not know that. It will be signed ‘Arthur’ and will say that you are at home. Bogy’s own wire will come later – I hope and believe. But Plato will never see it, because he will think that he’s had it – you see what I mean?”
“Yes, I see that,” said I: “but why don’t you want him to see the wire which Bogy will send? My people at Shepherd’s Market don’t know I’m in France.”
“Because, my dear John, the good Bogy won’t wire about you. All he wants at this moment is Plato’s address. And the instant he gets it he’ll wire him some far more important news – that Mansel and Chandos and Carson are somewhere in France.”
“God Almighty,” said I, and Audrey cried out.
“So you see how vital it is that Plato should get our wire before Bogy’s arrives. From what you’ve told me this morning, I think he will; for while his impatience will send him to the Post Office early, the chauffeur away in London will take his time. Any way, we must hope for the best. I dare not have our wire sent before half-past four: otherwise, it will be obvious that Bogy has not had time to find out where you are. Oh, and Carson is watching the Crystal – I don’t think there’s anything else. But a day off will do us all good – including our clerical friend. If everything goes as we wish, he’ll get our wire tonight and leave tomorrow morning – a giant refreshed. And as we’re now seven to one, I don’t much care where he goes.”
“I don’t wonder,” said Audrey, “that he is afraid of you.”
“He isn’t,” said Mansel, swiftly. “But he knows that we are worth watching, because if we get a chance, we’re not going to throw it away. He has an instinct, Plato. To suspect the Vane was natural: but his instinct, like some familiar, is making him look at John. I know how he feels – exactly. His common sense declares that his instinct is wrong: but he has such faith in his instinct that Bogy must prove it wrong before he will budge.” Here he glanced at his wrist-watch and got to his feet. “And now I must get on to London about that misleading wire. After that, William and I are going to have a look at the country – with a view to tomorrow’s run. You two shall give us some lunch about half-past one: till then, please stay in these rooms – I don’t think it’s very likely, but Plato might go for a stroll.”
“Supposing,” said Audrey, “just supposing he did a flit?”
Mansel wrinkled his brow.
“Bell’s seen to that,” he said. “The Swindon’s all washed and ready, but one of her tyres is flat. It happens like that sometimes. You pick up a nail one day, but the tyre doesn’t die on you for twenty-four hours.”
Glad as I was to have nothing to do that day, there were times when I thought that the sun would never have run his course. Though neither Mansel nor Chandos betrayed concern, they must have been just as uneasy as Audrey and I, for there was no blinking the fact that, once Mansel had spoken to London, the matter was out of our hands and we could do nothing whatever but hope for the best.
To make things worse, it was, of course, painfully clear that, before the chauffeur had left him, Plato might well have varied the rough and ready instructions which I had heard him give: and then, though our telegram came before that which Bogy dispatched, it would declare itself spurious because it was not worded as Plato had said.
However, as I have said, there was nothing to do but wait: but the hours went by very slowly, while Fortune considered the verdict she meant to return.
Plato rose about ten and went for a stroll in the gardens before he took lunch: but at half-past two he was still within his hotel, so Mansel sent Audrey and me for a drive in the Rolls.
“You’re sick of moving,” he said, “so I shouldn’t go far. Would you like to sit down in a meadow and look at a stream?”
“That’s about all I’m fit for,” said Audrey. “How did you know?”
Mansel smiled.
“It’s very refreshing,” he said. “I’ve done it a good many times, and it’s done me a great deal of good. I marked a good place this morning, and Carson shall take you there.”
So it came that, at three o’clock, Audrey and I were at ease in a blowing meadow by the side of a lazy stream, and a nightingale was singing in a thicket, and a peasant was cheering his oxen some two or three acres away. Now and again a fish would leap out of the water and now and again we could hear the drone of a distant car, but movement and sound were not those of a work-a-day world and only served to commend the wisdom of Aesop, who must have written his fables in just such a pretty place.
Audrey laid back her head and stared at the cloudless sky.
“Jonah,” she said, “is a very remarkable man. He marked this place this morning, because he knew that to come here would do us good. Well, he’s perfectly right, as usual. I feel miles better already for lying here… And yet he’s absurdly modest. He honours Plato’s instinct – you heard what he said today: but Jonah’s instinct is almost like second sight. Look at the bricks he’s made without any straw. From Sermon Square to Poitiers. I mean, if we get no further that’s not too bad.”
“Supposing,” I said, “supposing things go wrong, and Plato goes home.”
Audrey looked at me sharply, and then sat up. Then a slim hand shot out and caught hold of my wrist.
“Listen, John dear. Jonah and Richard are terribly nice to us: they treat us just as their equals in every way: but in fact, compared with them, you and I are like two children – for all we’ve done. And though I’m younger than you and though, as the boy, you properly take the lead, because I’m a girl I can sometimes see a bit further – get things you can’t. Besides, you see, I was in on the Blanche Mains show…”
“I’ll say you’re right, my beauty. But why have you chosen this moment to point it out?”
“Listen. You said just now, ‘Supposing things go wrong and Plato goes home.’”
“So I did,” said I. “And what about that?”
“This,” said Audrey quietly. “Plato will never go home.” In spite of myself, I started, and I felt her fingers tighten about my wrist. “The moment he landed in France, his race was run. If things go wrong today, he’ll die a day or two sooner – that’s all. If things go right, he’ll lead us up to Barabbas: and then, having served our turn, he will lose his life.”
There was a little silence.
Then—
“I give you best,” said I. “You’re wiser than me. But, now that you’ve shown me, of course it sticks out a mile. Once he was under his hand, Mansel would never spare Barabbas’ chargé d’affaires.” I hesitated. Then – “And I’m not surprised his instinct’s pointing at me. I’ve been his evil genius, from first to last.”
“Perhaps. But remember this. We are all, including Plato, without the law. Supposing he’d seen you last night – when you were crouching there, just under his nose.”
“He’d have bumped me off,” said I. “I realized that.”
“And have thought rather less about it than of running over a hen.” She drew in her breath. “Oh, John, how could you do it? It was the maddest venture. I know it came off – because you’re here, by my side: but it was as good as throwing your life away.”
“I’d really no choice,” said I. “It was that or losing the swine. Besides, when I saw what I’d done, I did try to get out.”
“Yes, but not to save yourself: you thought you’d made a mistake and you wanted to save the game.”
“Look here,” said I. “To be honest, I’m not as brave as I look.”
“I’m not trying to make you out brave. But what would you say if I�
��d done a thing like that?”
“Don’t be indecent,” said I. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
“Wouldn’t it shake you up?”
“My lady,” said I, “it shakes me up to conceive it. But if you had actually done it – well, last night, for instance, I should have slept in your room.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Audrey. “That’s just what I did.”
“Audrey!”
“Don’t worry – I straightened things up, before I was called. But what I want you to see is that when you do that sort of thing, it does upset your – your girlfriend… I mean, I think that’s natural. You can’t muck in with someone as I have mucked in with you, without becoming anxious that they shall come to no harm. Then again, St John, you’ve been very sweet to me, and I’ve had the squarest deal that ever a woman had.”
I sat very still – with my eyes on the sunlit water, stealing between its banks.
“You know that I love you,” I said.
“Yes, my dear.”
“And that when I say that I love you, I’m putting it very low.”
“Yes.”
I turned and looked at her.
“But you don’t love me, my darling – tell me the truth.”
She did not look at me, but she put out a little hand and I took it in both of mine.
“I don’t know, dear,” she said gently. “I’m terribly fond of you, and when you make love to me, I wish you would never stop. But I’ve never felt about you as I felt about George. I know I’m being unkind – and, perhaps, I’m showing bad form, but, to tell you the truth, you do deserve a square deal. You see, my darling, it would be quite all right if you didn’t – love me so much. But you do care so much, that I’ve simply got to care back. And I’m not quite sure that I do.”
“That’s good enough,” I said hoarsely.
“For me but not for you. I’m not going to let you down.”
“You couldn’t do that,” I sighed. “But you’ll never feel about me as you did about George. He and I were out of two different moulds.”
“That’s nothing to do with it.” She took her hand away and laced her fingers about an elegant knee. “When first I met you that night – that terrible night, I was glad you were there. I knew all about you, of course, though I never let on. George had told me about you so many times. And so we had something in common – we had both of us worshipped George. We have that in common now. I think we shall always have it, as long as we live.
“Of course I turned to no one – I’m not that kind. I must work out my own salvation, without any help. But when you had to ring up, I was thankful to hear your voice. And then…you met me in Paris…and upset everything.
“You see, my dear, I was acting; but you were not, I saw that instantly: and it hit me over the heart. It was – so damned unfair. And so I tried to be nice… And then, all at once, I found that I wasn’t trying – that I was just happy with you.
“We went to Amiens. If I thought at all, I thought that I was in charge. And then I found that you had taken charge – that you were just as efficient as I was out of my depth. That put me in my place. I saw that, if I was to see you, I’d got to look up – not down…
“And so I came to respect the man who had made me happy, who obviously loved me so much.
“You made the rest so easy…so very easy, St John. Day after day, you’ve served me, stood up to me, led me: but you have never used me. In a way, I’ve been at your mercy – sometimes, more at your mercy than you might think. Sometimes I’ve tried to prove you – piped to you just to see if you wouldn’t dance…and been all wild with you because you put me to shame. But that’s a woman for you. We’re built like that.”
I put a hand to my head.
“As I’ve told you before,” I said, “I’m not much good at women. But—”
“And I am afraid,” said Audrey, “I’m not much good at men. I’ve told one the truth today. And that is a thing no woman should ever do.”
I was on my knees by her side.
“My pretty darling,” I breathed, “you are unlike any woman I’ve ever seen. And when you say things like that, I want to stand up and shout. I am so proud of you – so terribly, terribly proud. I know where I am with you. And that’s a thing no man can say of a woman – and yet it’s true… I’m sorry that you don’t love me, but let me tell you this – I’d rather go on as we are till the day of my death than have the finest harem the world has ever seen.”
Audrey kneeled up and took my face in her hands.
“My blessed, honest St John – who ever but you would put up with a girl like me? You give, and give, and give: and I pick, and choose, and take. But you never complain, and you never take advantage, and you never pick up and throw back the stones which I throw at you.”
“I have my own ammunition.”
“I know. But it never hurts. And because of all this, I cannot help loving you. If anyone harmed you, I’d do my best to kill him. That’s how I feel – the tigress defending her young. But – I – am – not – mad about you, my darling boy. Not mad about you, as you are mad about me. There, you see – I’ve said it. I’ve spoken the naked truth. And I cannot give myself to you – even to you, St John – until – that – comes.” She let me go, and her beautiful head went down. “I’ll tell you something, though. If I don’t take you, I’ll never take anyone else. I could never stand the touch of them…after the brush of your lips.”
I put my hand under her chin and tilted her rosy face.
“Oh, Madonna,” I faltered, “will you let me kiss your mouth?”
The stars leaped into her eyes and the rarest smile swept into her countenance.
“Why, yes, my blessed,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”
As I kissed her lips, her arm went about my neck.
Plato was pensive.
At half-past six that evening I saw him come out of the Post Office, head in air, to stand on the pavement without, with a hand to his chin. I saw him raise his eyebrows and purse his lips: and then he turned on his heel and strolled slowly away.
Another man came out – a dirty-looking fellow, in filthy overalls and a cap too big for his head. As he turned to follow Plato, I saw him put up a hand and scratch the back of his neck.
“Nothing yet,” breathed Chandos. “And that’s not true. The wire we sent is certainly lying upstairs. But nobody wants to go down, so there it will stay.”
“We must get it down,” said Mansel, “before he comes back. If we don’t, Bogy’s wire will arrive, and he’ll get the two together – and then we’re sunk.”
“Half an hour,” said Chandos. “Ten to one he’ll be back at seven o’clock.”
“Rowley,” said Mansel.
“ Sir.”
“Mr Bagot and I are going across to the Post Office right away. Cover us up to the door and use your eyes. If you see Plato coming, enter at once and then get out of the way.”
“Very good, sir.”
We left the room together – a little, ramshackle bedroom, which Mansel had somehow procured: and I must confess that I was taken aback by the swiftness of his decision to dip his hand, so to speak, in Plato’s particular dish. I had great faith in Mansel and all he did, but it seemed to me sheer madness to sail so close to the wind.
As we crossed over the street—
“I shall talk,” said Mansel, “and you will keep an eye on the door. If Rowley comes in, say, ‘Coming’ and stand by to do as I say.”
A moment later we entered the airless hall. Although I was watching the door, I heard all that Mansel said and was conscious of all that he did.
I heard him ask for the letters for ‘Mr Mason’ and I saw him produce some letter, to show that that was his name.
Of course there were none.
Then he asked for ‘the’ telegram…
Again, of course, there was none: but Mansel declined to accept that obvious fact.
As ducks to water, the French to
argument: and when a man is as pleasant as Mansel was, irrelevance is a virtue and trouble beside the point.
Before two minutes were past, three assistants were listening to all he said, and a fourth had gone toiling upstairs to the telegraph-room.
Whilst he was gone, Mansel was telling some story which made the other three laugh, and though the fourth reappeared, with a telegram in his hand, Mansel never faltered, but only put out his hand and went on with his tale.
As this came to an end—
“There is nothing for Mason, Monsieur. I told you so.”
“Let me look,” said Mansel.
“This is for Plato,” said the fellow, holding the telegram up. “There is another coming, but that is for Plato, too.”
“My friends neglect me,” said Mansel. “Well, well, it can’t be helped.”
Then he thanked them and touched his hat and said that he would return – and I followed him out of the place, with a feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me want to sit down.
As we left the building, Mansel turned sharp to the right.
“We’re going upstairs,” he said, “to the telegraph-room. Reconnaisance, John, is a very valuable thing. I got up early this morning to have a look-round this place.”
“B-but what can you do?” I stammered.
“Get hold of that wire,” said Mansel, “before it goes down. It’s not a very big risk – and there’s no other way.”
We entered a small side-door, by which there was some notice I did not read: then we climbed a flight of stone stairs, and a moment later we stood in the telegraph-room.
It was not what I had expected.
One or two machines were ticking, and over some low partitions I saw the heads of two or three men at work: but the atmosphere was not busy, but rather that of careless occupation of which the men engaged were heartily sick.
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