CHAPTER XI
Blandings Castle dozed in the calm of an English Sundayafternoon. All was peace. Freddie was in bed, with orders fromthe doctor to stay there until further notice. Baxter had washedhis face. Lord Emsworth had returned to his garden fork. The restof the house party strolled about the grounds or sat in them, forthe day was one of those late spring days that are warm with apremature suggestion of midsummer.
Aline Peters was sitting at the open window of her bedroom, whichcommanded an extensive view of the terraces. A pile of letterslay on the table beside her, for she had just finished readingher mail. The postman came late to the castle on Sundays and shehad not been able to do this until luncheon was over.
Aline was puzzled. She was conscious of a fit of depression forwhich she could in no way account. She had a feeling that all wasnot well with the world, which was the more remarkable in thatshe was usually keenly susceptible to weather conditions andreveled in sunshine like a kitten. Yet here was a day nearly asfine as an American day--and she found no solace in it.
She looked down on the terrace; as she looked the figure ofGeorge Emerson appeared, walking swiftly. And at the sight of himsomething seemed to tell her that she had found the key to hergloom.
There are many kinds of walk. George Emerson's was the walk ofmental unrest. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyesstared straight in front of him from beneath lowering brows, andbetween his teeth was an unlighted cigar. No man who is not aprofessional politician holds an unlighted cigar in his mouthunless he wishes to irritate and baffle a ticket chopper in thesubway, or because unpleasant meditations have caused him toforget he has it there. Plainly, then, all was not well withGeorge Emerson.
Aline had suspected as much at luncheon; and looking back sherealized that it was at luncheon her depression had begun. Thediscovery startled her a little. She had not been aware, or shehad refused to admit to herself, that George's troubles bulked solarge on her horizon. She had always told herself that she likedGeorge, that George was a dear old friend, that George amused andstimulated her; but she would have denied she was so wrapped upin George that the sight of him in trouble would be enough tospoil for her the finest day she had seen since she left America.
There was something not only startling but shocking in thethought; for she was honest enough with herself to recognize thatFreddie, her official loved one, might have paced the grounds ofthe castle chewing an unlighted cigar by the hour withoutstirring any emotion in her at all.
And she was to marry Freddie next month! This was surely a matterthat called for thought. She proceeded, gazing down the while atthe perambulating George, to give it thought.
Aline's was not a deep nature. She had never pretended to herselfthat she loved the Honorable Freddie in the sense in which theword is used in books. She liked him and she liked the idea ofbeing connected with the peerage; her father liked the idea andshe liked her father. And the combination of these likings hadcaused her to reply "Yes" when, last Autumn, Freddie, swellinghimself out like an embarrassed frog and gulping, had utteredthat memorable speech beginning, "I say, you know, it's likethis, don't you know!"--and ending, "What I mean is, will youmarry me--what?"
She had looked forward to being placidly happy as the HonorableMrs. Frederick Threepwood. And then George Emerson had reappearedin her life, a disturbing element.
Until to-day she would have resented the suggestion that she wasin love with George. She liked to be with him, partly because hewas so easy to talk to, and partly because it was exciting to becontinually resisting the will power he made no secret of tryingto exercise. But to-day there was a difference. She had suspectedit at luncheon and she realized it now. As she looked down at himfrom behind the curtain, and marked his air of gloom, she couldno longer disguise it from herself.
She felt maternal--horribly maternal. George was in trouble andshe wanted to comfort him.
Freddie, too, was in trouble. But did she want to comfortFreddie? No. On the contrary, she was already regretting herpromise, so lightly given before luncheon, to go and sit with himthat afternoon. A well-marked feeling of annoyance that he shouldhave been so silly as to tumble downstairs and sprain his anklewas her chief sentiment respecting Freddie.
George Emerson continued to perambulate and Aline continued towatch him. At last she could endure it no longer. She gathered upher letters, stacked them in a corner of the dressing-table andleft the room. George had reached the end of the terrace andturned when she began to descend the stone steps outside thefront door. He quickened his pace as he caught sight of her. Hehalted before her and surveyed her morosely.
"I have been looking for you," he said.
"And here I am. Cheer up, George! Whatever is the matter? I'vebeen sitting in my room looking at you, and you have been simplyprowling. What has gone wrong?"
"Everything!"
"How do you mean--everything?"
"Exactly what I say. I'm done for. Read this."
Aline took the yellow slip of paper. "A cable," added George. "Igot it this morning--mailed on from my rooms in London. Read it."
"I'm trying to. It doesn't seem to make sense."
George laughed grimly.
"It makes sense all right."
"I don't see how you can say that. 'Meredith elephantkangaroo--?'"
"Office cipher; I was forgetting. 'Elephant' means 'Seriously illand unable to attend to duty.' Meredith is one of the partners inmy firm in New York."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Do you think he is very sick? Are you veryfond of Mr. Meredith?"
"Meredith is a good fellow and I like him; but if it was simply amatter of his being ill I'm afraid I could manage to bear upunder the news. Unfortunately 'kangaroo' means 'Return, withoutfail, by the next boat.'"
"You must return by the next boat?" Aline looked at him, in hereyes a slow-growing comprehension of the situation. "Oh!" shesaid at length.
"I put it stronger than that," said George.
"But--the next boat---- That means on Wednesday."
"Wednesday morning, from Southampton. I shall have to leave hereto-morrow."
Aline's eyes were fixed on the blue hills across the valley, butshe did not see them. There was a mist between. She was feelingcrushed and ill-treated and lonely. It was as though George wasalready gone and she left alone in an alien land.
"But, George!" she said; she could find no other words for herprotest against the inevitable.
"It's bad luck," said Emerson quietly; "but I shouldn't wonder ifit is not the best thing that really could have happened. Itfinishes me cleanly, instead of letting me drag on and make bothof us miserable. If this cable hadn't come I suppose I shouldhave gone on bothering you up to the day of your wedding. Ishould have fancied, to the last moment, that there was a chancefor me; but this ends me with one punch.
"Even I haven't the nerve to imagine that I can work a miracle inthe few hours before the train leaves to-morrow. I must just makethe best of it. If we ever meet again--and I don't see why weshould--you will be married. My particular brand of mentalsuggestion doesn't work at long range. I shan't hope to influenceyou by telepathy."
He leaned on the balustrade at her side and spoke in a low, levelvoice.
"This thing," he said, "coming as a shock, coming out of the bluesky without warning--Meredith is the last man in the world youwould expect to crack up; he looked as fit as a dray horse thelast time I saw him--somehow seems to have hammered a certainamount of sense into me. Odd it never struck me before; but Isuppose I have been about the most bumptious, conceited fool thatever happened.
"Why I should have imagined that there was a sort of irresistiblefascination in me, which was bound to make you break off yourengagement and upset the whole universe simply to win thewonderful reward of marrying me, is more than I can understand. Isuppose it takes a shock to make a fellow see exactly what hereally amounts to. I couldn't think any more of you than I do;but, if I could, the way you have put up with my mouthing andswaggering and posing as a s
ort of superman, would make me do it.You have been wonderful!"
Aline could not speak. She felt as though her whole world hadbeen turned upside down in the last quarter of an hour. This wasa new George Emerson, a George at whom it was impossible tolaugh, but an insidiously attractive George. Her heart beatquickly. Her mind was not clear; but dimly she realized that hehad pulled down her chief barrier of defense and that she wasmore open to attack than she had ever been. Obstinacy, theautomatic desire to resist the pressure of a will that attemptedto overcome her own, had kept her cool and level-headed in thepast. With masterfulness she had been able to cope. Humility wasanother thing altogether.
Soft-heartedness was Aline's weakness. She had never clearlyrecognized it, but it had been partly pity that had induced herto accept Freddie; he had seemed so downtrodden and sorry forhimself during those Autumn days when they had first met.Prudence warned her that strange things might happen if once sheallowed herself to pity George Emerson.
The silence lengthened. Aline could find nothing to say. In herpresent mood there was danger in speech.
"We have known each other so long," said Emerson, "and I havetold you so often that I love you, we have come to make almost ajoke of it, as though we were playing some game. It just happensthat that is our way--to laugh at things; but I am going to sayit once again, even though it has come to be a sort of catchphrase. I love you! I'm reconciled to the fact that I am donefor, out of the running, and that you are going to marry somebodyelse; but I am not going to stop loving you.
"It isn't a question of whether I should be happier if I forgotyou. I can't do it. It's just an impossibility--and that's allthere is to it. Whatever I may be to you, you are part of me, andyou always will be part of me. I might just as well try to go onliving without breathing as living without loving you."
He stopped and straightened himself.
"That's all! I don't want to spoil a perfectly good Springafternoon for you by pulling out the tragic stop. I had to sayall that; but it's the last time. It shan't occur again. Therewill be no tragedy when I step into the train to-morrow. Is thereany chance that you might come and see me off?"
Aline nodded.
"You will? That will be splendid! Now I'll go and pack and breakit to my host that I must leave him. I expect, it will be news tohim to learn that I am here. I doubt if he knows me by sight."
Aline stood where he had left her, leaning on the balustrade. Inthe fullness of time there came to her the recollection she hadpromised Freddie that shortly after luncheon she would sit withhim.
* * *
The Honorable Freddie, draped in purple pyjamas and propped upwith many pillows, was lying in bed, reading Gridley Quayle,Investigator. Aline's entrance occurred at a peculiarly poignantmoment in the story and gave him a feeling of having been broughtviolently to earth from a flight in the clouds. It is not oftenan author has the good fortune to grip a reader as the author ofGridley Quayle gripped Freddie.
One of the results of his absorbed mood was that he greeted Alinewith a stare of an even glassier quality than usual. His eyeswere by nature a trifle prominent; and to Aline, in theoverstrung condition in which her talk with George Emerson hadleft her, they seemed to bulge at her like a snail's. A manseldom looks his best in bed, and to Aline, seeing him for thefirst time at this disadvantage, the Honorable Freddie seemedquite repulsive. It was with a feeling of positive panic that shewondered whether he would want her to kiss him.
Freddie made no such demand. He was not one of your demonstrativelovers. He contented himself with rolling over in bed anddropping his lower jaw.
"Hello, Aline!"
Aline sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Well, Freddie?"
Her betrothed improved his appearance a little by hitching up hisjaw. As though feeling that would be too extreme a measure, hedid not close his mouth altogether; but he diminished the abyss.The Honorable Freddie belonged to the class of persons who movethrough life with their mouths always restfully open.
It seemed to Aline that on this particular afternoon a strangedumbness had descended on her. She had been unable to speak toGeorge and now she could not think of anything to say to Freddie.She looked at him and he looked at her; and the clock on themantel-piece went on ticking.
"It was that bally cat of Aunt Ann's," said Freddie at length,essaying light conversation. "It came legging it up the stairsand I took the most frightful toss. I hate cats! Do you hatecats? I knew a fellow in London who couldn't stand cats."
Aline began to wonder whether there was not something permanentlywrong with her organs of speech. It should have been a simplematter to develop the cat theme, but she found herself unable todo so. Her mind was concentrated, to the exclusion of all else,on the repellent nature of the spectacle provided by her lovedone in pyjamas. Freddie resumed the conversation.
"I was just reading a corking book. Have you ever read thesethings? They come out every month, and they're corking. Thefellow who writes them must be a corker. It beats me how hethinks of these things. They are about a detective--a chap calledGridley Quayle. Frightfully exciting!"
An obvious remedy for dumbness struck Aline.
"Shall I read to you, Freddie?"
"Right-ho! Good scheme! I've got to the top of this page."
Aline took the paper-covered book.
"'Seven guns covered him with deadly precision.' Did you get asfar as that?"
"Yes; just beyond. It's a bit thick, don't you know! This chappieQuayle has been trapped in a lonely house, thinking he was goingto see a pal in distress; and instead of the pal there pop out awhole squad of masked blighters with guns. I don't see how he'sgoing to get out of it, myself; but I'll bet he does. He's acorker!"
If anybody could have pitied Aline more than she pitied herself,as she waded through the adventures of Mr. Quayle, it would havebeen Ashe Marson. He had writhed as he wrote the words and shewrithed as she read them. The Honorable Freddie also writhed, butwith tense excitement.
"What's the matter? Don't stop!" he cried as Aline's voiceceased.
"I'm getting hoarse, Freddie."
Freddie hesitated. The desire to remain on the trail with Gridleystruggled with rudimentary politeness.
"How would it be--Would you mind if I just took a look at therest of it myself? We could talk afterward, you know. I shan't belong."
"Of course! Do read if you want to. But do you really like thissort of thing, Freddie?"
"Me? Rather! Why--don't you?"
"I don't know. It seems a little--I don't know."
Freddie had become absorbed in his story. Aline did not attemptfurther analysis of her attitude toward Mr. Quayle; she relapsedinto silence.
It was a silence pregnant with thought. For the first time intheir relations, she was trying to visualize to herself exactlywhat marriage with this young man would mean. Hitherto, it struckher, she had really seen so little of Freddie that she hadscarcely had a chance of examining him. In the crowded worldoutside he had always seemed a tolerable enough person. To-day,somehow, he was different. Everything was different to-day.
This, she took it, was a fair sample of what she might expectafter marriage. Marriage meant--to come to essentials--that twopeople were very often and for lengthy periods alone together,dependent on each other for mutual entertainment. What exactlywould it be like, being alone often and for lengthy periods withFreddie? Well, it would, she assumed, be like this.
"It's all right," said Freddie without looking up. "He did getout! He had a bomb on him, and he threatened to drop it and blowthe place to pieces unless the blighters let him go. So theycheesed it. I knew he had something up his sleeve."
Like this! Aline drew a deep breath. It would be likethis--forever and ever and ever--until she died. She bent forwardand stared at him.
"Freddie," she said, "do you love me?" There was no reply."Freddie, do you love me? Am I a part of you? If you hadn't mewould it be like trying to go on living without breathing?"
The Honorable Freddie raised a flushed face and gazed at her withan absent eye.
"Eh? What?" he said. "Do I--Oh; yes, rather! I say, one of theblighters has just loosed a rattlesnake into Gridley Quayle'sbedroom through the transom!"
Aline rose from her seat and left the room softly. The HonorableFreddie read on, unheeding.
* * *
Ashe Marson had not fallen far short of the truth in his estimateof the probable effect on Mr. Peters of the information that hisprecious scarab had once more been removed by alien hands and wasnow farther from his grasp than ever. A drawback to success inlife is that failure, when it does come, acquires an exaggeratedimportance. Success had made Mr. Peters, in certain aspects ofhis character, a spoiled child.
At the moment when Ashe broke the news he would have parted withhalf his fortune to recover the scarab. Its recovery had become apoint of honor. He saw it as the prize of a contest between hiswill and that of whatever malignant powers there might be rangedagainst him in the effort to show him that there were limits towhat he could achieve. He felt as he had felt in the old dayswhen people sneaked up on him in Wall Street and tried to loosenhis grip on a railroad or a pet stock. He was suffering from thatform of paranoia which makes men multimillionaires. Nobody wouldbe foolish enough to become a multimillionaire if it were not forthe desire to prove himself irresistible.
Mr. Peters obtained a small relief for his feelings by doublingthe existing reward, and Ashe went off in search of Joan, hopingthat this new stimulus, acting on their joint brains, mightdevelop inspiration.
"Have any fresh ideas been vouchsafed to you?" he asked. "You maylook on me as baffled."
Joan shook her head.
"Don't give up," she urged. "Think again. Try to realize whatthis means, Mr. Marson. Between us we have lost ten thousanddollars in a single night. I can't afford it. It is like losing alegacy. I absolutely refuse to give in without an effort and goback to writing duke-and-earl stories for Home Gossip."
"The prospect of tackling Gridley Quayle again--"
"Why, I was forgetting that you were a writer of detectivestories. You ought to be able to solve this mystery in a moment.Ask yourself, 'What would Gridley Quayle have done?'"
"I can answer that. Gridley Quayle would have waited helplesslyfor some coincidence to happen to help him out."
"Had he no methods?"
"He was full of methods; but they never led him anywhere withoutthe coincidence. However, we might try to figure it out. Whattime did you get to the museum?"
"One o'clock."
"And you found the scarab gone. What does that suggest to you?"
"Nothing. What does it suggest to you?"
"Absolutely nothing. Let us try again. Whoever took the scarabmust have had special information that Peters was offering thereward."
"Then why hasn't he been to Mr. Peters and claimed it?"
"True! That would seem to be a flaw in the reasoning. Once again:Whoever took it must have been in urgent and immediate need ofmoney."
"And how are we to find out who was in urgent and immediate needof money?"
"Exactly! How indeed?"
There was a pause.
"I should think your Mr. Quayle must have been a great comfort tohis clients, wasn't he?" said Joan.
"Inductive reasoning, I admit, seems to have fallen down to acertain extent," said Ashe. "We must wait for the coincidence. Ihave a feeling that it will come." He paused. "I am veryfortunate in the way of coincidences."
"Are you?"
Ashe looked about him and was relieved to find that they appearedto be out of earshot of their species. It was not easy to achievethis position at the castle if you happened to be there as adomestic servant. The space provided for the ladies and gentlemenattached to the guests was limited, and it was rarely that youcould enjoy a stroll without bumping into a maid, a valet or afootman; but now they appeared to be alone. The drive leading tothe back regions of the castle was empty. As far as the eye couldreach there were no signs of servants--upper or lower.Nevertheless, Ashe lowered his voice.
"Was it not a strange coincidence," he said, "that you shouldhave come into my life at all?"
"Not very," said Joan prosaically. "It was quite likely that weshould meet sooner or later, as we lived on different floors ofthe same house."
"It was a coincidence that you should have taken that room."
"Why?"
Ashe felt damped. Logically, no doubt, she was right; but surelyshe might have helped him out a little in this difficultsituation. Surely her woman's intuition should have told her thata man who has been speaking in a loud and cheerful voice doesnot lower it to a husky whisper without some reason. Thehopelessness of his task began to weigh on him.
Ever since that evening at Market Blandings Station, when herealized that he loved her, he had been trying to find anopportunity to tell her so; and every time they had met, the talkhad seemed to be drawn irresistibly into practical andunsentimental channels. And now, when he was doing his best toreason it out that they were twin souls who had been broughttogether by a destiny it would be foolish to struggle against;when he was trying to convey the impression that fate had designedthem for each other--she said, "Why?" It was hard.
He was about to go deeper into the matter when, from thedirection of the castle, he perceived the Honorable Freddie'svalet--Mr. Judson--approaching. That it was this repellent youngman's object to break in on them and rob him of his one smallchance of inducing Joan to appreciate, as he did, the mysteriousworkings of Providence as they affected herself and him, wasobvious. There was no mistaking the valet's desire forconversation. He had the air of one brimming over with speech.His wonted indolence was cast aside; and as he drew nearer hepositively ran. He was talking before he reached them.
"Miss Simpson, Mr. Marson, it's true--what I said that night.It's a fact!"
Ashe regarded the intruder with a malevolent eye. Never fond ofMr. Judson, he looked on him now with positive loathing. It hadnot been easy for him to work himself up to the point where hecould discuss with Joan the mysterious ways of Providence, forthere was that about her which made it hard to achieve sentiment.That indefinable something in Joan Valentine which made fornocturnal raids on other people's museums also rendered her asomewhat difficult person to talk to about twin souls anddestiny. The qualities that Ashe loved in her--her strength, hercapability, her valiant self-sufficingness--were the veryqualities which seemed to check him when he tried to tell herthat he loved them.
Mr. Judson was still babbling.
"It's true. There ain't a doubt of it now. It's been and happenedjust as I said that night."
"What did you say? Which night?" inquired Ashe.
"That night at dinner--the first night you two came here. Don'tyou remember me talking about Freddie and the girl he used towrite letters to in London--the girl I said was so like you, MissSimpson? What was her name again? Joan Valentine. That was it.The girl at the theater that Freddie used to send me with lettersto pretty nearly every evening. Well, she's been and done it,same as I told you all that night she was jolly likely to go anddo. She's sticking young Freddie up for his letters, just as heought to have known she would do if he hadn't been a youngfathead. They're all alike, these girls--every one of them."
Mr. Judson paused, subjected the surrounding scenery to acautious scrutiny and resumed.
"I took a suit of Freddie's clothes away to brush just now; andhappening"--Mr. Judson paused and gave a little cough--"happeningto glance at the contents of his pockets I come across a letter.I took a sort of look at it before setting it aside, and it wasfrom a fellow named Jones; and it said that this girl, Valentine,was sticking onto young Freddie's letters what he'd written her,and would see him blowed if she parted with them under anotherthousand. And, as I made it out, Freddie had already given herfive hundred.
"Where he got it is more than I can understand; but that's whatthe letter said. This fellow Jones said he had passed it to
herwith his own hands; but she wasn't satisfied, and if she didn'tget the other thousand she was going to bring an action forbreach. And now Freddie has given me a note to take to thisJones, who is stopping in Market Blandings."
Joan had listened to this remarkable speech with a stunnedamazement. At this point she made her first comment:
"But that can't be true."
"Saw the letter with my own eyes, Miss Simpson."
"But----"
She looked at Ashe helplessly. Their eyes met--hers wide withperplexity, his bright with the light of comprehension.
"It shows," said Ashe slowly, "that he was in immediate andurgent need of money."
"You bet it does," said Mr. Judson with relish. "It looks to meas though young Freddie had about reached the end of his tetherthis time. My word! There won't half be a kick-up if she does suehim for breach! I'm off to tell Mr. Beach and the rest. They'lljump out of their skins." His face fell. "Oh, Lord, I wasforgetting this note. He told me to take it at once."
"I'll take it for you," said Ashe. "I'm not doing anything."
Mr. Judson's gratitude was effusive.
"You're a good fellow, Marson," he said. "I'll do as much for youanother time. I couldn't hardly bear not to tell a bit of newslike this right away. I should burst or something."
And Mr. Judson, with shining face, hurried off to thehousekeeper's room.
"I simply can't understand it," said Joan at length. "My head isgoing round."
"Can't understand it? Why, it's perfectly clear. This is thecoincidence for which, in my capacity of Gridley Quayle, I waswaiting. I can now resume inductive reasoning. Weighing theevidence, what do we find? That young sweep, Freddie, is the man.He has the scarab."
"But it's all such a muddle. I'm not holding his letters."
"For Jones' purposes you are. Let's get this Jones element in theaffair straightened out. What do you know of him?"
"He was an enormously fat man who came to see me one night andsaid he had been sent to get back some letters. I told him I haddestroyed them ages ago and he went away."
"Well, that part of it is clear, then. He is working a simple butingenious game on Freddie. It wouldn't succeed with everybody, Isuppose; but from what I have seen and heard of him Freddie isn'tstrong on intellect. He seems to have accepted the story withouta murmur. What does he do? He has to raise a thousand poundsimmediately, and the raising of the first five hundred hasexhausted his credit. He gets the idea of stealing the scarab!"
"But why? Why should he have thought of the scarab at all? Thatis what I can't understand. He couldn't have meant to give it toMr. Peters and claim the reward. He couldn't have known that Mr.Peters was offering a reward. He couldn't have known that LordEmsworth had not got the scarab quite properly. He couldn't haveknown--he couldn't have known anything!"
Ashe's enthusiasm was a trifle damped.
"There's something in that. But--I have it! Jones must have knownabout the scarab and told him."
"But how could he have known?"
"Yes; there's something in that, too. How could Jones haveknown?"
"He couldn't. He had gone by the time Aline came that night."
"I don't quite understand. Which night?"
"It was the night of the day I first met you. I was wondering fora moment whether he could by any chance have overheard Alinetelling me about the scarab and the reward Mr. Peters wasoffering for it."
"Overheard! That word is like a bugle blast to me. Nine out often of Gridley Quayle's triumphs were due to his having overheardsomething. I think we are now on the right track."
"I don't. How could he have overheard us? The door was closed andhe was in the street by that time."
"How do you know he was in the street? Did you see him out?"
"No; but he went."
"He might have waited on the stairs--you remember how dark theyare at Number Seven--and listened."
"Why?"
Ashe reflected.
"Why? Why? What a beast of a word that is--the detective'sbugbear. I thought I had it, until you said--Great Scott! I'lltell you why. I see it all. I have him with the goods. His objectin coming to see you about the letters was because Freddie wantedthem back owing to his approaching marriage with MissPeters--wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"You tell him you have destroyed the letters. He goes off. Am Iright?"
"Yes."
"Before he is out of the house Miss Peters is giving her name atthe front door. Put yourself in Jones' place. What does he think?He is suspicious. He thinks there is some game on. He skipsupstairs again, waits until Miss Peters has gone into your room,then stands outside and listens. How about that?"
"I do believe you are right. He might quite easily have donethat."
"He did do exactly that. I know it as though I had been there; infact, it is highly probable I was there. You say all thishappened on the night we first met? I remember coming downstairsthat night--I was going out to a vaudeville show--and hearingvoices in your room. I remember it distinctly. In all probabilityI nearly ran into Jones."
"It does all seem to fit in, doesn't it?"
"It's a clear case. There isn't a flaw in it. The only questionis, can I, on the evidence, go to young Freddie and choke thescarab out of him? On the whole, I think I had better take thisnote to Jones, as I promised Judson, and see whether I can't worksomething through him. Yes; that's the best plan. I'll bestarting at once."
* * *
Perhaps the greatest hardship in being an invalid is the factthat people come and see you and keep your spirits up. TheHonorable Freddie Threepwood suffered extremely from this. Hiswas not a gregarious nature and it fatigued his limited brainpowers to have to find conversation for his numerous visitors.All he wanted was to be left alone to read the adventures ofGridley Quayle, and when tired of doing that to lie on his backand look at the ceiling and think of nothing.
It is your dynamic person, your energetic world's worker, whochafes at being laid up with a sprained ankle. The HonorableFreddie enjoyed it. From boyhood up he had loved lying in bed;and now that fate had allowed him to do this without incurringrebuke he objected to having his reveries broken up by officiousrelations.
He spent his rare intervals of solitude in trying to decide inhis mind which of his cousins, uncles and aunts was, all thingsconsidered, the greatest nuisance. Sometimes he would give thepalm to Colonel Horace Mant, who struck the soldierly note--"Irecollect in a hill campaign in the winter of the year '93 givingmy ankle the deuce of a twist." Anon the more spiritual attitudeof the Bishop of Godalming seemed to annoy him more keenly.
Sometimes he would head the list with the name of his CousinPercy--Lord Stockheath--who refused to talk of anything excepthis late breach-of-promise case and the effect the verdict hadhad on his old governor. Freddie was in no mood just now to besympathetic with others on their breach-of-promise cases.
As he lay in bed reading on Monday morning, the only flaw in hisenjoyment of this unaccustomed solitude was the thought thatpresently the door was bound to open and some kind inquirerinsinuate himself into the room.
His apprehensions proved well founded. Scarcely had he got wellinto the details of an ingenious plot on the part of a secretsociety to eliminate Gridley Quayle by bribing his cook--a badlot--to sprinkle chopped-up horsehair in his chicken fricassee,when the door-knob turned and Ashe Marson came in.
Freddie was not the only person who had found the influx ofvisitors into the sick room a source of irritation. The fact thatthe invalid seemed unable to get a moment to himself had annoyedAshe considerably. For some little time he had hung about thepassage in which Freddie's room was situated, full of enterprise,but unable to make a forward move owing to the throng ofsympathizers. What he had to say to the sufferer could not besaid in the presence of a third party.
Freddie's sensation, on perceiving him, was one of relief. He hadbeen half afraid it was the bishop. He recognized Ashe as thevalet chappie who had helped him to bed o
n the occasion of hisaccident. It might be that he had come in a respectful way tomake inquiries, but he was not likely to stop long. He nodded andwent on reading. And then, glancing up, he perceived Ashestanding beside the bed, fixing him with a piercing stare.
The Honorable Freddie hated piercing stares. One of the reasonswhy he objected to being left alone with his futurefather-in-law, Mr. J. Preston Peters, was that Nature had giventhe millionaire a penetrating pair of eyes, and the stress ofbusiness life in New York had developed in him a habit of boringholes in people with them. A young man had to have a strongernerve and a clearer conscience than the Honorable Freddie toenjoy a tete-a-tete with Mr. Peters.
Though he accepted Aline's father as a necessary evil andrecognized that his position entitled him to look at people assharply as he liked, whatever their feelings, he would be hangedif he was going to extend this privilege to Mr. Peters' valet.This man standing beside him was giving him a look that seemed tohis sensitive imagination to have been fired red-hot from a gun;and this annoyed and exasperated Freddie.
"What do you want?" he said querulously. "What are you staring atme like that for?"
Ashe sat down, leaned his elbows on the bed, and applied the lookagain from a lower elevation.
"Ah!" he said.
Whatever may have been Ashe's defects, so far as the handling ofthe inductive-reasoning side of Gridley Quayle's character wasconcerned, there was one scene in each of his stories in which henever failed. That was the scene in the last chapter whereQuayle, confronting his quarry, unmasked him. Quayle might havefloundered in the earlier part of the story, but in his big scenehe was exactly right. He was curt, crisp and mercilesslycompelling.
Ashe, rehearsing this interview in the passage before his entry,had decided that he could hardly do better than model himself onthe detective. So he began to be curt, crisp and mercilesslycompelling to Freddie; and after the first few sentences he hadthat youth gasping for air.
"I will tell you," he said. "If you can spare me a few moments ofyour valuable time I will put the facts before you. Yes; pressthat bell if you wish--and I will put them before witnesses. LordEmsworth will no doubt be pleased to learn that his son, whom hetrusted, is a thief!"
Freddie's hand fell limply. The bell remained un-touched. Hismouth opened to its fullest extent. In the midst of his panic hehad a curious feeling that he had heard or read that lastsentence somewhere before. Then he remembered. Those very wordsoccurred in Gridley Quayle, Investigator--The Adventure of theBlue Ruby.
"What--what do you mean?" he stammered.
"I will tell you what I mean. On Saturday night a valuable scarabwas stolen from Lord Emsworth's private museum. The case was putinto my hands----"
"Great Scott! Are you a detective?"
"Ah!" said Ashe.
Life, as many a worthy writer has pointed out, is full ofironies. It seemed to Freddie that here was a supreme example ofthis fact. All these years he had wanted to meet a detective; andnow that his wish had been gratified the detective was detectinghim!
"The case," continued Ashe severely, "was placed in my hands. Iinvestigated it. I discovered that you were in urgent andimmediate need of money."
"How on earth did you do that?"
"Ah!" said Ashe. "I further discovered that you were incommunication with an individual named Jones."
"Good Lord! How?"
Ashe smiled quietly.
"Yesterday I had a talk with this man Jones, who is staying inMarket Blandings. Why is he staying in Market Blandings? Becausehe had a reason for keeping in touch with you; because you wereabout to transfer to his care something you could get possessionof, but which only he could dispose of--the scarab."
The Honorable Freddie was beyond speech. He made no comment onthis statement. Ashe continued:
"I interviewed this man Jones. I said to him: 'I am in theHonorable Frederick Threepwood's confidence. I know everything.Have you any instructions for me?' He replied: 'What do youknow?' I answered: 'I know that the Honorable FrederickThreepwood has something he wishes to hand to you, but which hehas been unable to hand to you owing to having had an accidentand being confined to his room.' He then told me to tell you tolet him have the scarab by messenger."
Freddie pulled himself together with an effort. He was in sorestraits, but he saw one last chance. His researches in detectivefiction had given him the knowledge that detectives occasionallyrelaxed their austerity when dealing with a deserving case. EvenGridley Quayle could sometimes be softened by a hard-luck story.Freddie could recall half a dozen times when a detected criminalhad been spared by him because he had done it all from the bestmotives. He determined to throw himself on Ashe's mercy.
"I say, you know," he said ingratiatingly, "I think it's ballymarvelous the way you've deduced everything, and so on."
"Well?"
"But I believe you would chuck it if you heard my side of thecase."
"I know your side of the case. You think you are beingblackmailed by a Miss Valentine for some letters you once wroteher. You are not. Miss Valentine has destroyed the letters. Shetold the man Jones so when he went to see her in London. He keptyour five hundred pounds and is trying to get another thousandout of you under false pretenses."
"What? You can't be right."
"I am always right."
"You must be mistaken."
"I am never mistaken."
"But how do you know?"
"I have my sources of information."
"She isn't going to sue me for breach of promise?"
"She never had any intention of doing so."
The Honorable Freddie sank back on the pillows.
"Good egg!" he said with fervor. He beamed happily. "This," heobserved, "is a bit of all right."
For a space relief held him dumb. Then another aspect of thematter struck him, and he sat up again with a jerk.
"I say, you don't mean to say that that rotter Jones was such arotter as to do a rotten thing like that?"
"I do."
Freddie grew plaintive.
"I trusted that man," he said. "I jolly well trusted himabsolutely."
"I know," said Ashe. "There is one born every minute."
"But"--the thing seemed to be filtering slowly into Freddie'sintelligence "what I mean to say is, I--I--thought he was such agood chap."
"My short acquaintance with Mr. Jones," said Ashe "leads me tothink that he probably is--to himself."
"I won't have anything more to do with him."
"I shouldn't."
"Dash it, I'll tell you what I'll do. The very next time I meetthe blighter, I'll cut him dead. I will! The rotter! Five hundredquid he's had off me for nothing! And, if it hadn't been for you,he'd have had another thousand! I'm beginning to think that myold governor wasn't so far wrong when he used to curse me forgoing around with Jones and the rest of that crowd. He knew abit, by Gad! Well, I'm through with them. If the governor everlets me go to London again, I won't have anything to do withthem. I'll jolly well cut the whole bunch! And to think that, ifit hadn't been for you . . ."
"Never mind that," said Ashe. "Give me the scarab. Where is it?"
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Restore it to its rightful owner."
"Are you going to give me away to the governor?"
"I am not."
"It strikes me," said Freddie gratefully, "that you are a dashedgood sort. You seem to me to have the making of an absolutetopper! It's under the mattress. I had it on me when I felldownstairs and I had to shove it in there."
Ashe drew it out. He stood looking at it, absorbed. He couldhardly believe his quest was at an end and that a small fortunelay in the palm of his hand. Freddie was eyeing him admiringly.
"You know," he said, "I've always wanted to meet a detective.What beats me is how you chappies find out things."
"We have our methods."
"I believe you. You're a blooming marvel! What first put you onmy track?"
"That," said Ashe, "would take
too long to explain. Of course Ihad to do some tense inductive reasoning; but I cannot traceevery link in the chain for you. It would be tedious."
"Not to me."
"Some other time."
"I say, I wonder whether you've ever read any of thesethings--these Gridley Quayle stories? I know them by heart."
With the scarab safely in his pocket, Ashe could contemplate thebrightly-colored volume the other extended toward him withoutactive repulsion. Already he was beginning to feel a sort ofsentiment for the depressing Quayle, as something that had onceformed part of his life.
"Do you read these things?"
"I should say not. I write them."
There are certain supreme moments that cannot be adequatelydescribed. Freddie's appreciation of the fact that such a momenthad occurred in his life expressed itself in a startled cry and aconvulsive movement of all his limbs. He shot up from the pillowsand gaped at Ashe.
"You write them? You don't mean, write them!"
"Yes."
"Great Scott!"
He would have gone on, doubtless, to say more; but at this momentvoices made themselves heard outside the door. There was amovement of feet. Then the door opened and a small processionentered.
It was headed by the Earl of Emsworth. Following him came Mr.Peters. And in the wake of the millionaire were Colonel HoraceMant and the Efficient Baxter. They filed into the room and stoodby the bedside. Ashe seized the opportunity to slip out.
Freddie glanced at the deputation without interest. His mind wasoccupied with other matters. He supposed they had come to inquireafter his ankle and he was mildly thankful that they had come ina body instead of one by one. The deputation grouped itself aboutthe bed and shuffled its feet. There was an atmosphere ofawkwardness.
"Er--Frederick!" said Lord Emsworth. "Freddie, my boy!"
Mr. Peters fiddled dumbly with the coverlet. Colonel Mant clearedhis throat. The Efficient Baxter scowled. "Er--Freddie, my dearboy, I fear we have a painful--er--task to perform."
The words struck straight home at the Honorable Freddie's guiltyconscience. Had they, too, tracked him down? And was he now to beaccused of having stolen that infernal scarab? A wave of reliefswept over him as he realized that he had got rid of the thing. Adecent chappie like that detective would not give him away. Allhe had to do was to keep his head and stick to stout denial. Thatwas the game--stout denial.
"I don't know what you mean," he said defensively.
"Of course you don't--dash it!" said Colonel Mant. "We're comingto that. And I should like to begin by saying that, though in asense it was my fault, I fail to see how I could have acted---"
"Horace!"
"Oh, very well! I was only trying to explain."
Lord Emsworth adjusted his pince-nez and sought inspiration fromthe wall paper.
"Freddie, my boy," he began, "we have a somewhat unpleasant--asomewhat er--disturbing--We are compelled to break it to you. Weare all most pained and astounded; and--"
The Efficient Baxter spoke. It was plain he was in a bad temper.
"Miss Peters," he snapped, "has eloped with your friend Emerson."
Lord Emsworth breathed a sigh of relief.
"Exactly, Baxter. Precisely! You have put the thing in anutshell. Really, my dear fellow, you are invaluable."
All eyes searched Freddie's face for signs of uncontrollableemotion. The deputation waited anxiously for his firstgrief-stricken cry.
"Eh? What?" said Freddie.
"It is quite true, Freddie, my dear boy. She went to London withhim on the ten-fifty."
"And if I had not been forcibly restrained," said Baxter acidly,casting a vindictive look at Colonel Mant, "I could haveprevented it."
Colonel Mant cleared his throat again and put a hand to hismustache.
"I'm afraid that is true, Freddie. It was a most unfortunatemisunderstanding. I'll tell you how it happened: I chanced to beat the station bookstall when the train came in. Mr. Baxter wasalso in the station. The train pulled up and this young fellowEmerson got in--said good-by to us, don't you know, and got in.Just as the train was about to start, Miss Peters exclaiming,'George dear, I'm going with you---, dash it,' or some suchspeech--proceeded to go--hell for leather--to the door of youngEmerson's compartment. On which---"
"On which," interrupted Baxter, "I made a spring to try and catchher. Apart from any other consideration, the train was alreadymoving and Miss Peters ran considerable risk of injury. I hadhardly moved when I felt a violent jerk at my ankle and fell tothe ground. After I had recovered from the shock, which was notimmediately, I found--"
"The fact is, Freddie, my boy," the colonel went on, "I actedunder a misapprehension. Nobody can be sorrier for the mistakethan I; but recent events in this house had left me with theimpression that Mr. Baxter here was not quite responsible for hisactions--overwork or something, I imagined. I have seen it happenso often in India, don't you know, where fellows run amuck andkick up the deuce's own delight. I am bound to admit that I havebeen watching Mr. Baxter rather closely lately in the expectationthat something of this very kind might happen.
"Of course I now realize my mistake; and I have apologized--apologized humbly--dash it! But at the moment I was firmly underthe impression that our friend here had an attack of some kindand was about to inflict injuries on Miss Peters. If I've seen ithappen once in India, I've seen it happen a dozen times.
"I recollect, in the hot weather of the year '99---or was it'93?--I think '93---one of my native bearers--However, I sprangforward and caught the crook of my walking stick on Mr. Baxter'sankle and brought him down. And by the time explanations weremade it was too late. The train had gone, with Miss Peters init."
"And a telegram has just arrived," said Lord Emsworth, "to saythat they are being married this afternoon at a registrar's. Thewhole occurrence is most disturbing."
"Bear it like a man, my boy!" urged Colonel Mant.
To all appearances Freddie was bearing it magnificently. Not asingle exclamation, either of wrath or pain, had escaped hislips. One would have said the shock had stunned him or that hehad not heard, for his face expressed no emotion whatever.
The fact was, the story had made very little impression on theHonorable Freddie of any sort. His relief at Ashe's news aboutJoan Valentine; the stunning joy of having met in the flesh theauthor of the adventures of Gridley Quayle; the general feelingthat all was now right with the world--these things deprived himof the ability to be greatly distressed.
And there was a distinct feeling of relief--actual relief--thatnow it would not be necessary for him to get married. He hadliked Aline; but whenever he really thought of it the prospect ofgetting married rather appalled him. A chappie looked such an assgetting married! It appeared, however, that some verbal commenton the state of affairs was required of him. He searched his mindfor something adequate.
"You mean to say Aline has bolted with Emerson?"
The deputation nodded pained nods. Freddie searched in his mindagain. The deputation held its breath.
"Well, I'm blowed!" said Freddie. "Fancy that!"
* * *
Mr. Peters walked heavily into his room. Ashe Marson was waitingfor him there. He eyed Ashe dully.
"Pack!" he said.
"Pack?"
"Pack! We're getting out of here by the afternoon train."
"Has anything happened?"
"My daughter has eloped with Emerson."
"What!"
"Don't stand there saying, 'What!' Pack."
Ashe put his hand in his pocket.
"Where shall I put this?" he asked.
For a moment Mr. Peters looked without comprehension at what Ashewas holding out; then his whole demeanor altered. His eyes litup. He uttered a howl of pure rapture:
"You got it!"
"I got it."
"Where was it? Who took it? How did you choke it out of them?How did you find it? Who had it?"
"I don't know whether I ought to say. I don't wan
t to startanything. You won't tell anyone?"
"Tell anyone! What do you take me for? Do you think I am goingabout advertising this? If I can sneak out without that fellowBaxter jumping on my back I shall be satisfied. You can take itfrom me that there won't be any sensational exposures if I canhelp it. Who had it?"
"Young Threepwood."
"Threepwood? Why did he want it?"
"He needed money and he was going to raise it on--"
Mr. Peters exploded.
"And I have been kicking because Aline can't marry him and hasgone off with a regular fellow like young Emerson! He's a goodboy--young Emerson. I knew his folks. He'll make a name forhimself one of these days. He's got get-up in him. And I havebeen waiting to shoot him because he has taken Aline away fromthat goggle-eyed chump up in bed there!
"Why, if she had married Threepwood I should have hadgrandchildren who would have sneaked my watch while I was dancingthem on my knee! There is a taint of some sort in the wholefamily. Father sneaks my Cheops and sonny sneaks it from father.What a gang! And the best blood in England! If that's England'sidea of good blood give me Hoboken! This settles it. I was achump ever to come to a country like this. Property isn't safehere. I'm going back to America on the next boat.
"Where's my check book? I'm going to write you that check rightaway. You've earned it. Listen, young man; I don't know what yourideas are, but if you aren't chained to this country I'll make itworth your while to stay on with me. They say no one'sindispensable, but you come mighty near it. If I had you at myelbow for a few years I'd get right back into shape. I'm feelingbetter now than I have felt in years--and you've only juststarted in on me.
"How about it? You can call yourself what you like--secretary ortrainer, or whatever suits you best. What you will be is thefellow who makes me take exercise and stop smoking cigars, andgenerally looks after me. How do you feel about it?"
It was a proposition that appealed both to Ashe's commercial andto his missionary instincts. His only regret had been that, thescarab recovered, he and Mr. Peters would now, he supposed, partcompany. He had not liked the idea of sending the millionaireback to the world a half-cured man. Already he had begun to lookon him in the light of a piece of creative work to which he hadjust set his hand.
But the thought of Joan gave him pause. If this meant separationfrom Joan it was not to be considered.
"Let me think it over," he said.
"Well, think quick!" said Mr. Peters.
* * *
It has been said by those who have been through fires,earthquakes and shipwrecks that in such times of stress thesocial barriers are temporarily broken down, and the spectaclemay be seen of persons of the highest social standing speakingquite freely to persons who are not in society at all; and ofquite nice people addressing others to whom they have never beenintroduced. The news of Aline Peters' elopement with GeorgeEmerson, carried beyond the green-baize door by Slingsby, thechauffeur, produced very much the same state of affairs in theservants' quarters at Blandings Castle.
It was not only that Slingsby was permitted to penetrate into thehousekeeper's room and tell his story to his social superiorsthere, though that was an absolutely unprecedented occurrence;what was really extraordinary was that mere menials discussed theaffair with the personal ladies and gentlemen of the castleguests, and were allowed to do so uncrushed. James, thefootman--that pushing individual--actually shoved his way intothe room, and was heard by witnesses to remark to no less aperson than Mr. Beach that it was a bit thick.
And it is on record that his fellow footman, Alfred, meeting thegroom of the chambers in the passage outside, positively proddedhim in the lower ribs, winked, and said: "What a day we'rehaving!" One has to go back to the worst excesses of the FrenchRevolution to parallel these outrages. It was held by Mr. Beachand Mrs. Twemlow afterward that the social fabric of the castlenever fully recovered from this upheaval. It may be they took anextreme view of the matter, but it cannot be denied that itwrought changes. The rise of Slingsby is a case in point. Untilthis affair took place the chauffeur's standing had never beensatisfactorily settled. Mr. Beach and Mrs. Twemlow led the partywhich considered that he was merely a species of coachman; butthere was a smaller group which, dazzled by Slingsby'spersonality, openly declared it was not right that he should takehis meals in the servants' hall with such admitted plebeians asthe odd man and the steward's-room footman.
The Aline-George elopement settled the point once and for all.Slingsby had carried George's bag to the train. Slingsby had beenstanding a few yards from the spot where Aline began her dash forthe carriage door. Slingsby was able to exhibit the actual halfsovereign with which George had tipped him only five minutesbefore the great event. To send such a public man back to theservants' hall was impossible. By unspoken consent the chauffeurdined that night in the steward's room, from which he was neverdislodged.
Mr. Judson alone stood apart from the throng that clustered aboutthe chauffeur. He was suffering the bitterness of the supplanted.A brief while before and he had been the central figure, with hisstory of the letter he had found in the Honorable Freddie's coatpocket. Now the importance of his story had been engulfed in thatof this later and greater sensation, Mr. Judson was learning, forthe first time, on what unstable foundations popularity stands.
Joan was nowhere to be seen. In none of the spots where she mighthave been expected to be at such a time was she to be found. Ashehad almost given up the search when, going to the back door andlooking out as a last chance, he perceived her walking slowly onthe gravel drive.
She greeted Ashe with a smile, but something was plainlytroubling her. She did not speak for a moment and they walkedside by side.
"What is it?" said Ashe at length. "What is the matter?"
She looked at him gravely.
"Gloom," she said. "Despondency, Mr. Marson--A sort of flatfeeling. Don't you hate things happening?"
"I don't quite understand."
"Well, this affair of Aline, for instance. It's so big it makesone feel as though the whole world had altered. I should likenothing to happen ever, and life just to jog peacefully along.That's not the gospel I preached to you in Arundell Street, is it!I thought I was an advanced apostle of action; but I seem to havechanged. I'm afraid I shall never be able to make clear what I domean. I only know I feel as though I have suddenly grown old.These things are such milestones. Already I am beginning to lookon the time before Aline behaved so sensationally as terriblyremote. To-morrow it will be worse, and the day after that worsestill. I can see that you don't in the least understand what Imean."
"Yes; I do--or I think I do. What it comes to, in a few words, isthat somebody you were fond of has gone out of your life. Is thatit?"
Joan nodded.
"Yes--at least, that is partly it. I didn't really know Alineparticularly well, beyond having been at school with her, butyou're right. It's not so much what has happened as what itrepresents that matters. This elopement has marked the end of aphase of my life. I think I have it now. My life has been such aseries of jerks. I dash along--then something happens which stopsthat bit of my life with a jerk; and then I have to start overagain--a new bit. I think I'm getting tired of jerks. I wantsomething stodgy and continuous.
"I'm like one of the old bus horses that could go on forever ifpeople got off without making them stop. It's the having to getthe bus moving again that wears one out. This little section ofmy life since we came here is over, and it is finished for good.I've got to start the bus going again on a new road and with anew set of passengers. I wonder whether the old horses used to besorry when they dropped one lot of passengers and took on a lotof strangers?"
A sudden dryness invaded Ashe's throat. He tried to speak, butfound no words. Joan went on:
"Do you ever get moods when life seems absolutely meaningless?It's like a badly-constructed story, with all sorts of charactersmoving in and out who have nothing to do with the plot. And whensomebody comes along that you think
really has something to dowith the plot, he suddenly drops out. After a while you begin towonder what the story is about, and you feel that it's aboutnothing--just a jumble."
"There is one thing," said Ashe, "that knits it together."
"What is that?"
"The love interest."
Their eyes met and suddenly there descended on Ashe confidence.He felt cool and alert, sure of himself, as in the old days hehad felt when he ran races and, the nerve-racking hours ofwaiting past, he listened for the starter's gun. Subconsciouslyhe was aware he had always been a little afraid of Joan, and thatnow he was no longer afraid.
"Joan, will you marry me?"
Her eyes wandered from his face. He waited.
"I wonder!" she said softly. "You think that is the solution?"
"Yes."
"How can you tell?" she broke out. "We scarcely know each other.I shan't always be in this mood. I may get restless again. I mayfind it is the jerks that I really like."
"You won't!"
"You're very confident."
"I am absolutely confident."
"'She travels fastest who travels alone,'" misquoted Joan.
"What is the good," said Ashe, "of traveling fast if you're goinground in a circle? I know how you feel. I've felt the samemyself. You are an individualist. You think there is somethingtremendous just round the corner and that you can get it if youtry hard enough. There isn't--or if there is it isn't worthgetting. Life is nothing but a mutual aid association. I am goingto help old Peters--you are going to help me--I am going to helpyou."
"Help me to do what?"
"Make life coherent instead of a jumble."
"Mr. Marson---"
"Don't call me Mr. Marson."
"Ashe, you don't know what you are doing. You don't know me.I've been knocking about the world for five years and I'mhard--hard right through. I should make you wretched."
"You are not in the least hard--and you know it. Listen to me,Joan. Where's your sense of fairness? You crash into my life,turn it upside down, dig me out of my quiet groove, revolutionizemy whole existence; and now you propose to drop me and pay nofurther attention to me. Is it fair?"
"But I don't. We shall always be the best of friends."
"We shall--but we will get married first."
"You are determined?"
"I am!"
Joan laughed happily.
"How perfectly splendid! I was terrified lest I might have madeyou change your mind. I had to say all I did to preserve myself-respect after proposing to you. Yes; I did. How strange itis that men never seem to understand a woman, however plainly shetalks! You don't think I was really worrying because I had lostAline, do you? I thought I was going to lose you, and it made memiserable. You couldn't expect me to say it in so many words; butI thought--I was hoping--you guessed. I practically said it.Ashe! What are you doing?"
Ashe paused for a moment to reply.
"I am kissing you," he said.
"But you mustn't! There's a scullery maid or somebody lookingthrough the kitchen window. She will see us."
Ashe drew her to him.
"Scullery maids have few pleasures," he said. "Theirs is a dulllife. Let her see us."
CHAPTER XII
The Earl of Emsworth sat by the sick bed and regarded theHonorable Freddie almost tenderly.
"I fear, Freddie, my dear boy, this has been a great shock toyou."
"Eh? What? Yes--rather! Deuce of a shock, gov'nor."
"I have been thinking it over, my boy, and perhaps I have been alittle hard on you. When your ankle is better I have decided torenew your allowance; and you may return to London, as you do notseem happy in the country. Though how any reasonable being canprefer--"
The Honorable Freddie started, pop-eyed, to a sitting posture.
"My word! Not really?"
His father nodded.
"I say, gov'nor, you really are a topper! You really are, youknow! I know just how you feel about the country and the jollyold birds and trees and chasing the bally slugs off the younggeraniums and all that sort of thing, but somehow it's neverquite hit me the same way. It's the way I'm built, I suppose. Ilike asphalt streets and crowds and dodging taxis and meetingchappies at the club and popping in at the Empire for half anhour and so forth. And there's something about having anallowance--I don't know . . . sort of makes you chuck your chestout and feel you're someone. I don't know how to thank you,gov'nor! You're--you're an absolute sportsman! This is the mostpriceless bit of work you've ever done. I feel like atwo-year-old. I don't know when I've felt so braced.I--I--really, you know, gov'nor, I'm most awfully grateful."
"Exactly," said Lord Emsworth. "Ah--precisely. But, Freddie, myboy," he added, not without pathos, "there is just one thingmore. Do you think that--with an effort--for my sake--you couldendeavor this time not to make a--a damned fool of yourself?"
He eyed his offspring wistfully.
"Gov'nor," said the Honorable Freddie firmly, "I'll have a jollygood stab at it!"
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