Jill the Reckless

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER V

  LADY UNDERHILL RECEIVES A SHOCK

  I

  There are streets in London into which the sun seems never topenetrate. Some of these are in fashionable quarters, and it is to besupposed that their inhabitants find an address which looks well onnote-paper a sufficient compensation for the gloom that goes with it.The majority, however, are in the mean neighbourhoods of the greatrailway termini, and appear to offer no compensation whatever. Theyare lean, furtive streets, grey as the January sky with a sort ofarrested decay. They smell of cabbage and are much prowled over byvagrom cats. At night they are empty and dark, and a stillness broodson them, broken only by the cracked tingle of an occasional pianoplaying one of the easier hymns, a form of music to which the dwellersin the dingy houses are greatly addicted. By day they achieve acertain animation through the intermittent appearance of women inaprons, who shake rugs out of the front doors or, emerging from areas,go down to the public-house on the corner with jugs to fetch thesupper-beer. In almost every ground-floor window there is a cardannouncing that furnished lodgings may be had within. You will findthese streets by the score if you leave the main thoroughfares andtake a short cut on your way to Euston, to Paddington, or to Waterloo.But the dingiest and deadliest and most depressing lie round aboutVictoria. And Daubeny Street, Pimlico, is one of the worst of themall.

  On the afternoon following the events recorded, a girl was dressing inthe ground-floor room of Number Nine, Daubeny Street. A tray bearingthe remains of a late breakfast stood on the rickety table beside abowl of wax flowers. From beneath the table peered the green cover ofa copy of _Variety_. A grey parrot in a cage by the window crackedseed and looked out into the room with a satirical eye. He had seenall this so many times before--Nelly Bryant arraying herself in hersmartest clothes to go out and besiege agents in their offices off theStrand. It happened every day. In an hour or two she would come backas usual, say "Oh, Gee!" in a tired sort of voice, and then Bill theparrot's day proper would begin. He was a bird who liked the sound ofhis own voice, and he never got the chance of a really sustainedconversation till Nelly returned in the evening.

  "Who cares?" said Bill, and cracked another seed.

  If rooms are an indication of the characters of their occupants, NellyBryant came well out of the test of her surroundings. Nothing can makea London furnished room much less horrible than it intends to be, butNelly had done her best. The furniture, what there was of it, was ofthat lodging-house kind which resembles nothing else in the world. Buta few little touches here and there, a few instinctively tastefulalterations in the general scheme of things, had given the room almosta cosy air. Later on, with the gas lit, it would achieve somethingapproaching homeliness. Nelly, like many another nomad, had taughtherself to accomplish a good deal with poor material. On tour inAmerica, she had sometimes made even a bedroom in a small hoteltolerably comfortable, than which there is no greater achievement.Oddly, considering her life, she had a genius for domesticity.

  To-day, not for the first time, Nelly was feeling unhappy. The facethat looked back at her out of the mirror at which she was arrangingher most becoming hat was weary. It was only a moderately pretty face,but loneliness and underfeeding had given it a wistful expression thathad charm. Unfortunately, it was not the sort of charm which made agreat appeal to the stout, whisky-nourished men who sat behindpaper-littered tables, smoking cigars, in the rooms marked "Private"in the offices of theatrical agents. Nelly had been out of a "shop"now for many weeks--ever since, in fact, "Follow the Girl" hadfinished its long run at the Regal Theatre.

  "Follow the Girl," an American musical comedy, had come over from NewYork with an American company, of which Nelly had been a humble unit,and, after playing a year in London and some weeks in the number onetowns, had returned to New York. It did not cheer Nelly up in the longevenings in Daubeny Street to reflect that, if she had wished, shecould have gone home with the rest of the company. A mad impulse hadseized her to try her luck in London, and here she was now, marooned.

  "Who cares?" said Bill.

  For a bird who enjoyed talking he was a little limited in his remarksand apt to repeat himself.

  "I do, you poor fish!" said Nelly, completing her manoeuvres withthe hat and turning to the cage. "It's all right for you--you have aswell time with nothing to do but sit there and eat seed--but how doyou suppose I enjoy tramping around looking for work and never findingany?"

  She picked up her gloves. "Oh, well!" she said. "Wish me luck!"

  "Good-bye, boy!" said the parrot, clinging to the bars.

  Nelly thrust a finger into the cage, and scratched his head.

  "Anxious to get rid of me, aren't you? Well, so long."

  "Good-bye, boy!"

  "All right, I'm going. Be good!"

  "Woof-woof-woof!" barked Bill the parrot, not committing himself toany promises.

  For some moments after Nelly had gone he remained hunched on hisperch, contemplating the infinite. Then he sauntered along to theseed-box and took some more light nourishment. He always liked tospread his meals out, to make them last longer. A drink of water towash the food down, and he returned to the middle of the cage, wherehe proceeded to conduct a few intimate researches with his beak underhis left wing. After which he mewed like a cat, and relapsed intosilent meditation once more. He closed his eyes and pondered on hisfavourite problem--Why was he a parrot? This was always good for anhour or so, and it was three o'clock before he had come to hiscustomary decision that he didn't know. Then, exhausted by brain-workand feeling a trifle hipped by the silence of the room, he lookedabout him for some way of jazzing existence up a little. It occurredto him that if he barked again it might help.

  "Woof-woof-woof!"

  Good as far as it went, but it did not go far enough. It was not realexcitement. Something rather more dashing seemed to him to beindicated. He hammered for a moment or two on the floor of his cage,ate a mouthful of the newspaper there, and stood with his head on oneside, chewing thoughtfully. It didn't taste as good as usual. Hesuspected Nelly of having changed his _Daily Mail_ for the _DailyExpress_ or something. He swallowed the piece of paper, and was struckby the thought that a little climbing exercise might be what his souldemanded. (You hang on by your beak and claws and work your way up tothe roof. It sounds tame, but it's something to do.) He tried it. And,as he gripped the door of the cage it swung open. Bill the parrot nowperceived that this was going to be one of those days. He had not hada bit of luck like this for months.

  For a while he sat regarding the open door. Unless excited by outsideinfluences, he never did anything in a hurry. Then proceedingcautiously, he passed out into the room. He had been out there before,but always chaperoned by Nelly. This was something quite different. Itwas an adventure. He hopped on to the window-sill. There was a ball ofyellow wool there, but he had lunched and could eat nothing. He castaround in his mind for something to occupy him, and perceived suddenlythat the world was larger than he had supposed. Apparently there was alot of it outside the room. How long this had been going on he did notknow, but obviously it was a thing to be investigated. The window wasopen at the bottom, and just outside the window were what he took tobe the bars of another and larger cage. As a matter of fact they werethe railings which afforded a modest protection to Number Nine. Theyran the length of the house, and were much used by small boys as ameans of rattling sticks. One of these stick-rattlers passed as Billstood there looking down. The noise startled him for a moment, then heseemed to come to the conclusion that this sort of thing was to beexpected if you went out into the great world and that a parrot whointended to see life must not allow himself to be deterred by trifles.He crooned a little, and finally, stepping in a stately way over thewindow-sill, with his toes turned in at right angles, caught at thetop of the railing with his beak, and proceeded to lower himself.Arrived at the level of the street, he stood looking out.

  A dog trotted up, spied him, and came to sniff.

  "Good-bye, boy!" said Bill chat
tily.

  The dog was taken aback. Hitherto, in his limited experience, birdshad been birds and men men. Here was a blend of the two. What was tobe done about it? He barked tentatively, then, finding that nothingdisastrous ensued, pushed his nose between two of the bars and barkedagain. Any one who knew Bill could have told him that he was askingfor it, and he got it. Bill leaned forward and nipped his nose. Thedog started back with a howl of agony. He was learning something newevery minute.

  "Woof-woof-woof!" said Bill sardonically.

  He perceived trousered legs, four of them, and, cocking his eyeupwards, saw that two men of the lower orders stood before him. Theywere gazing down at him in the stolid manner peculiar to theproletariat of London in the presence of the unusual. For some minutesthey stood drinking him in, then one of them gave judgment.

  "It's a parrot!" He removed a pipe from his mouth and pointed with thestem. "A perishin' parrot, Erb."

  "Ah!" said Erb, a man of few words.

  "A parrot," proceeded the other. He was seeing clearer into the matterevery moment. "That's a parrot, that is Erb. My brother Joe's wife'ssister had one of 'em. Come from abroad, _they_ do. My brother Joe'swife's sister 'ad one of 'em. Red-'aired gel she was. Married a fellerdown at the Docks _She_ 'ad one of 'em. Parrots they're called."

  He bent down for a closer inspection, and inserted a finger throughthe railings. Erb abandoned his customary taciturnity and spoke wordsof warning.

  "Tike care 'e don't sting yer, 'Enry!"

  Henry seemed wounded.

  "Woddyer mean, sting me? I know all abart parrots, I do. My brotherJoe's wife's sister 'ad one of 'em. They don't 'urt yer, not if you'rekind to 'em. You know yer pals when you see 'em, don't yer, mate?" hewent on, addressing Bill, who was contemplating the finger with onehalf-closed eye.

  "Good-bye, boy," said the parrot, evading the point.

  "Jear that?" cried Henry delightedly. "'Goo'-bye, boy!' 'Uman theyare!"

  "'E'll 'ave a piece out of yer finger," warned Erb the suspicious.

  "Wot, 'im?" Henry's voice was indignant. He seemed to think that hisreputation as an expert on parrots had been challenged. "'E wouldn't'ave no piece out of my finger."

  "Bet yer a narf-pint 'e would 'ave a piece out of yer finger,"persisted the sceptic.

  "No blinkin' parrot's goin' to 'ave no piece of no finger of mine! Mybrother Joe's wife's sister's parrot never 'ad no piece out of nofinger of mine!" He extended the finger further and waggled itenticingly beneath Bill's beak. "Cheerio, matey!" he said winningly."Polly want a nut?"

  Whether it was mere indolence or whether the advertised docility ofthat other parrot belonging to Henry's brother's wife's sister hadcaused him to realize that there was a certain standard of goodconduct for his species one cannot say; but for a while Bill merelycontemplated temptation with a detached eye.

  "See!" said Henry.

  "Woof-woof-woof!" said Bill.

  "_Wow-Wow-Wow_!" yapped the dog, suddenly returning to the scene andgoing on with the argument at the point where he had left off.

  The effect on Bill was catastrophic. Ever a high-strung bird, he lostcompletely the repose which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere and thebetter order of parrot. His nerves were shocked, and, as always undersuch conditions, his impulse was to bite blindly. He bit, andHenry--one feels sorry for Henry: he was a well-meaning man--leapedback with a loud howl.

  "'That'll be 'arf a pint," said Erb, always the business man.

  There was a lull in the rapid action. The dog, mumbling softly tohimself, had moved away again and was watching affairs from the edgeof the sidewalk. Erb, having won his point, was silent once more.Henry sucked his finger. Bill, having met the world squarely and shownit what was what, stood where he was, whistling nonchalantly.

  Henry removed his finger from his mouth. "Lend the loan of that stickof yours, Erb," he said tensely.

  Erb silently yielded up the stout stick which was his inseparablecompanion. Henry, a vastly different man from the genial saunterer ofa moment ago, poked wildly through the railings. Bill, panic-strickennow and wishing for nothing better than to be back in his cosy cage,shrieked loudly for help. And Freddie Rooke, running round the cornerwith Jill, stopped dead and turned pale.

  "Good God!" said Freddie.

  II

  In pursuance of his overnight promise to Derek, Freddie Rooke had gotin touch with Jill through the medium of the telephone immediatelyafter breakfast, and had arranged to call at Ovingdon Square in theafternoon. Arrived there, he found Jill with a telegram in her hand.Her Uncle Christopher, who had been enjoying a breath of sea-air downat Brighton, was returning by an afternoon train, and Jill hadsuggested that Freddie should accompany her to Victoria, pick up UncleChris, and escort him home. Freddie, whose idea had been a_tete-a-tete_ involving a brotherly lecture on impetuosity, haddemurred but had given way in the end; and they had set out to walk toVictoria together. Their way had lain through Daubeny Street, and theyturned the corner just as the brutal onslaught on the innocent Henryhad occurred. Bill's shrieks, which were of an appalling timbre,brought them to a halt.

  "What is it?" cried Jill.

  "It sounds like a murder!"

  "Nonsense!"

  "I don't know, you know. This is the sort of street chappies aremurdering people in all the time."

  They caught sight of the group in front of them, and were reassured.Nobody could possibly be looking so aloof and distrait as Erb if therewere a murder going on.

  "It's a bird!"

  "It's a jolly old parrot. See it? Just inside the railings."

  A red-hot wave of rage swept over Jill. Whatever her defects--andalready this story has shown her far from perfect--she had theexcellent quality of loving animals and blazing into fury when she sawthem ill-treated. At least three draymen were going about London withburning ears as the result of what she had said to them on discoveringthem abusing their patient horses. Zoologically, Bill the parrot wasnot an animal, but he counted as one with Jill, and she sped downDaubeny Street to his rescue--Freddie, spatted and hatted andtrousered as became the man of fashion, following disconsolately,ruefully aware that he did not look his best sprinting like that. ButJill was cutting out a warm pace, and he held his hat on with oneneatly-gloved hand and did what he could to keep up.

  Jill reached the scene of battle, and, stopping, eyed Henry with abaleful glare. We, who have seen Henry in his calmer moments and knowhim for the good fellow he was, are aware that he was more sinnedagainst than sinning. If there is any spirit of justice in us, we arepro-Henry. In his encounter with Bill the parrot, Henry undoubtedlyhad right on his side. His friendly overtures, made in the best spiritof kindliness, had been repulsed. He had been severely bitten. And hehad lost half a pint of beer to Erb. As impartial judges we have noother course before us than to wish Henry luck and bid him go to it.But Jill, who had not seen the opening stages of the affair, thoughtfar otherwise. She merely saw in Henry a great brute of a man pokingat a defenceless bird with a stick.

  She turned to Freddie, who had come up at a gallop and was wonderingwhy the deuce this sort of thing happened to him out of a city of sixmillions.

  "Make him stop, Freddie!"

  "Oh, I say, you know, what?"

  "Can't you see he's hurting the poor thing? Make him leave off!Brute!" she added to Henry (for whom one's heart bleeds), as he jabbedonce again at his adversary.

  Freddie stepped reluctantly up to Henry, and tapped him on theshoulder. Freddie was one of those men who have a rooted idea that aconversation of this sort can only be begun by a tap on the shoulder.

  "'Look here, you know, you can't do this sort of thing, you know!"said Freddie.

  Henry raised a scarlet face.

  "'Oo are _you_?" he demanded.

  This attack from the rear, coming on top of his other troubles, triedhis restraint sorely.

  "Well--" Freddie hesitated. It seemed silly to offer the fellow one ofhis cards. "Well, as a matter of fact, my name's Rooke...."

&nbs
p; "And who," pursued Henry, "arsked _you_ to come shoving your ugly mugin 'ere?"

  "Well, if you put it that way...."

  "'E comes messing abart," said Henry complainingly, addressing theuniverse, "and interfering in what don't concern 'im and muckingaround and interfering and messing abart.... Why," he broke off in asudden burst of eloquence, "I could eat two of you for a relish wiv metea, even if you '_ave_ got white spats!"

  Here Erb, who had contributed nothing to the conversation, remarked"Ah!" and expectorated on the sidewalk. The point, one gathers, seemedto Erb well taken. A neat thrust, was Erb's verdict.

  "Just because you've got white spats," proceeded Henry, on whosesensitive mind these adjuncts of the costume of the well-dressed manabout town seemed to have made a deep and unfavourable impression,"you think you can come mucking around and messing abart andinterfering and mucking around. This bird's bit me in the finger, and'ere's the finger, if you don't believe me--and I'm going to twist 'isruddy neck, if all the perishers with white spats in London comemessing abart and mucking around, so you take them white spats ofyours 'ome and give 'em to the old woman to cook for your Sundaydinner!"

  And Henry, having cleansed his stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuffwhich weighs upon the heart, shoved the stick energetically once morethrough the railings.

  Jill darted forward. Always a girl who believed that, if you want athing well done, you must do it yourself, she had applied to Freddiefor assistance merely as a matter of form. All the time she had feltthat Freddie was a broken reed, and such he had proved himself.Freddie's policy in this affair was obviously to rely on the magic ofspeech, and any magic his speech might have had was manifestly offsetby the fact that he was wearing white spats and that Henry,apparently, belonged to some sort of league or society which had forits main object the discouragement of white spats. It was plainly nogood leaving the conduct of the campaign to Freddie. Whatever was tobe done must be done by herself. She seized the stick and wrenched itout of Henry's hand.

  "Woof-woof-woof!" said Bill the parrot.

  No dispassionate auditor could have failed to detect the nasty ring ofsarcasm. It stung Henry. He was not normally a man who believed inviolence to the gentler sex outside a clump on the head of his missuswhen the occasion seemed to demand it; but now he threw away theguiding principles of a lifetime and turned on Jill like a tiger.

  "Gimme that stick!"

  "Get back!"

  "Here, I say, you know!" said Freddie.

  Henry, now thoroughly overwrought, made a rush at Jill; and Jill, whohad a straight eye, hit him accurately on the side of the head.

  "Goo!" said Henry, and sat down.

  And then, from behind Jill, a voice spoke.

  "What's all this?"

  A stout policeman had manifested himself from empty space.

  "This won't do!" said the policeman.

  Erb, who had been a silent spectator of the fray, burst into speech.

  "She 'it 'im!"

  The policeman looked at Jill. He was an officer of many years' experiencein the Force, and time had dulled in him that respect for good clotheswhich he had brought with him from Little-Sudbury-in-the-Wold in the daysof his novitiate. Jill was well dressed, but, in the stirring epoch of theSuffrage disturbances, the policeman had been kicked on the shins and evenbitten by ladies of an equally elegant exterior. Hearts, the policemanknew, just as pure and fair may beat in Belgrave Square as in the lowlierair of Seven Dials, but you have to pinch them just the same when theydisturb the peace. His gaze, as it fell upon Jill, red-handed as it werewith the stick still in her grasp, was stern.

  "Your name, please, and address, miss?" he said.

  A girl in blue with a big hat had come up, and was standing staringopen-mouthed at the group. At the sight of her Bill the parrot uttereda shriek of welcome. Nelly Bryant had returned, and everything wouldnow be all right again.

  "Mariner," said Jill, pale and bright-eyed. "I live at NumberTwenty-two, Ovingdon Square."

  "And yours, sir?"

  "Mine? Oh, ah, yes. I see what you mean. Rooke, you know. F. L. Rooke.I live at the Albany and all that sort of thing."

  The policeman made an entry in his note-book.

  "Officer," cried Jill, "this man was trying to kill that parrot and Istopped him...."

  "Can't help that, miss. You 'adn't no right to hit a man with a stick.You'll 'ave to come along."

  "But, I say, you know!" Freddie was appalled. This sort of thing hadhappened to him before, but only on Boat-Race Night at the Empire,where it was expected of a chappie. "I mean to say!"

  "And you, too, sir. You're both in it."

  "But...."

  "Oh, come along, Freddie," said Jill quietly. "It's perfectly absurd,but it's no use making a fuss."

  "That," said the policeman cordially, "is the right spirit!"

  III

  Lady Underhill paused for breath. She had been talking long andvehemently. She and Derek were sitting in Freddie Rooke's apartment atthe Albany, and the subject of her monologue was Jill. Derek had beenexpecting the attack, and had wondered why it had not come before. Allthrough supper on the previous night, even after the discovery thatJill was supping at a near-by table with a man who was a stranger toher son, Lady Underhill had preserved a grim reticence with regard toher future daughter-in-law. But to-day she had spoken her mind withall the energy which comes of suppression. She had relieved herselfwith a flow of words of all the pent-up hostility that had beengrowing within her since that first meeting in this same room. She hadtalked rapidly, for she was talking against time. The Town Council ofthe principal city in Derek's constituency in the north of England haddecided that to-morrow morning should witness the laying of thefoundation stone of their new Town Hall, and Derek as the sittingmember was to preside at the celebration. Already Barker had beendispatched to telephone for a cab to take him to the station, and atany moment their conversation might be interrupted. So Lady Underhillmade the most of what little time she had.

  Derek listened gloomily, scarcely rousing himself to reply. His motherwould have been gratified could she have known how powerfully herarguments were working on him. That little imp of doubt which hadvexed him in the cab as he drove home from Ovingdon Square had notdied in the night. It had grown and waxed more formidable. And now,aided by this ally from without, it had become a Colossus straddlinghis soul. Derek looked frequently at the clock, and cursed the unknowncabman whose delay was prolonging the scene. Something told him thatonly flight could serve him now. He never had been able to withstandhis mother in one of her militant moods. She seemed to numb hisfaculties. Other members of his family had also noted this quality inLady Underhill, and had commented on it bitterly in the smoking-roomsof distant country-houses at the hour when men meet to drink the finalwhisky-and-soda and unburden their souls.

  Lady Underhill, having said all she had to say, recovered her breathand began to say it again. Frequent iteration was one of her strongestweapons. As her brother Edwin, who was fond of homely imagery, hadoften observed, she could talk the hind-leg off a donkey.

  "You must be mad, Derek, to dream of handicapping yourself at thisvital stage of your career with a wife who not only will not be a helpto you, but must actually be a ruinous handicap. I am not blaming youfor imagining yourself in love in the first place, though I reallyshould have thought that a man of your strength and characterwould.... However, as I say, I am not blaming you for that.Superficially, no doubt, this girl might be called attractive. I donot admire the type myself, but I suppose she has that quality--in mytime we should have called it boldness--which seems to appeal to theyoung men of to-day. I could imagine her fascinating a weak-mindedimbecile like your friend Mr. Rooke. But that you.... Still, there isno need to go into that. What I am trying to point out is that inyour position, with a career like yours in front of you--it's quitecertain that in a year or two you will be offered some really big andresponsible position--you would be insane to tie yourself to a girlwho seems to have been
allowed to run perfectly wild, whose uncle is aswindler...."

  "She can't be blamed for her uncle."

  "... Who sups alone with strange men in public restaurants...."

  "I explained that."

  "You may have explained it. You certainly did not excuse it or make ita whit less outrageous. You cannot pretend that you really imaginethat an engaged girl is behaving with perfect correctness when sheallows a man she has only just met to take her to supper at the Savoy,even if she did know him slightly years and years ago. It is veryidyllic to suppose that a childhood acquaintance excuses every breachof decorum, but I was brought up to believe otherwise. I don't wish tobe vulgar, but what it amounts to is that this girl was havingsupper--supper! In my days girls were in bed at supper-time!--with astrange man who picked her up at a theatre!"

  Derek shifted uneasily. There was a part of his mind which called uponhim to rise up and challenge the outrageous phrase and demand that itbe taken back. But he remained silent. The imp-Colossus was too strongfor him. She is quite right, said the imp. That is an unpleasant butaccurate description of what happened. He looked at the clock again,and wished for the hundredth time that the cab would come. Jill'sphotograph smiled at him from beside the clock. He looked away, for,when he found his eyes upon it, he had an odd sensation of baseness,as if he were playing some one false who loved and trusted him.

  "Well, I am not going to say any more," she said, getting up andbuttoning her glove. "I will leave you to think it over. All I willsay is that, though I only met her yesterday, I can assure you that Iam quite confident that this girl is just the sort of harum-scarumso-called 'modern' girl who is sure some day to involve herself in areally serious scandal. I don't want her to be in a position to dragyou into it as well. Yes, Barker, what is it? Is Sir Derek's cabhere?"

  The lantern-jawed Barker had entered softly, and was standingdeferentially in the doorway. There was no emotion on his face beyondthe vague sadness which a sense of what was correct made him alwayswear like a sort of mask when in the presence of those of superiorstation.

  "The cab will be at the door very shortly, m'lady. If you please, SirDerek, a policeman has come with a message."

  "A policeman?"

  "With a message from Mr. Rooke."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I have had a few words of conversation with the constable, sir," saidBarker sadly, "and I understand from him that Mr. Rooke and MissMariner have been arrested."

  "Arrested! What are you talking about?"

  "Mr. Rooke desired the officer to ask you to be good enough to stepround and bail them out!"

  The gleam in Lady Underhill's eye became a flame, but she controlledher voice.

  "Why were Miss Mariner and Mr. Rooke arrested, Barker?"

  "As far as I can gather, m'lady, Miss Mariner struck a man in thestreet with a stick, and they took both her and Mr. Rooke to theChelsea Police Station."

  Lady Underhill glanced at Derek, who was looking into the fire.

  "This is a little awkward, Derek," she said suavely. "If you go to thepolice-station, you will miss your train."

  "I fancy, m'lady, it would be sufficient if Sir Derek were to dispatchme with a cheque for ten pounds."

  "Very well. Tell the policeman to wait a moment."

  "Very good, m'lady."

  Derek roused himself with an effort. His face was drawn and gloomy. Hesat down at the writing-table, and took out his cheque-book. There wassilence for a moment, broken only by the scratching of the pen. Barkertook the cheque and left the room.

  "Now, perhaps," said Lady Underhill, "you will admit that I wasright!" She spoke in almost an awed voice, for this occurrence at justthis moment seemed to her very like a direct answer to prayer. "Youcan't hesitate now! You _must_ free yourself from this detestableentanglement!"

  Derek rose without speaking. He took his coat and hat from where theylay on a chair.

  "Derek! You will! Say you will!"

  Derek put on his coat.

  "Derek!"

  "For heaven's sake, leave me alone, mother. I want to think."

  "Very well. I will leave you to think it over, then." Lady Underhillmoved to the door. At the door she paused for a moment, and seemedabout to speak again, but her mouth closed resolutely. She was ashrewd woman, and knew that the art of life is to know when to stoptalking. What words have accomplished, too many words can undo.

  "Good-bye."

  "Good-bye, mother."

  "I'll see you when you get back?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know. I'm not certain when I shall return. I may goaway for a bit."

  The door closed behind Lady Underhill. Derek sat down again at thewriting-table. He wrote a few words on a sheet of paper, then tore itup. His eye travelled to the mantelpiece. Jill's photograph smiledhappily down at him. He turned back to the writing-table, took out afresh piece of paper, thought for a few moments, and began to writeagain.

  The door opened softly.

  "The cab is at the door, Sir Derek," said Barker.

  Derek addressed an envelope, and got up.

  "All right. Thanks. Oh, Barker, stop at a district-messenger office onyour way to the police-station, and have this sent off at once."

  "Very good, Sir Derek," said Barker.

  Derek's eyes turned once more to the mantelpiece. He stood looking foran instant, then walked quickly out of the room.