1
How Will Noggin was Fooled,
and Berry Rode Forth Against His Will
“Who’s going to church?” said Daphne, consulting her wristwatch.
There was a profound silence.
My sister turned to Jill.
“Are you coming?” she said. “Berry and I are.”
“I beg your pardon,” said her husband.
“Of course you’re coming,” said Daphne.
“Not in these trousers. This is the first time I’ve worn them, and I’m not going to kneel in them for anyone.”
“Then you’ll change,” said his wife. “You’ve plenty of time.”
Berry groaned.
“This is sheer Bolshevism,” he said. “Is not my soul my own?”
“We shall start,” said Daphne, “in twenty minutes.”
It was nearly half-past ten in the morning of a beautiful summer day, and we were all taking our ease in the sunshine upon the terrace. It was the first Sunday which we had spent all together at White Ladies for nearly five years.
So far as the eye could see, nothing had changed.
At the foot of the steps the great smooth lawn stretched like a fine green carpet, its shadowed patches yet bright with dew. There were the tall elms and the copper beech and all the proud company of spreading giants – what were five years to them? There was the clump of rhododendrons, a ragged blotch of crimson, seemingly spilled upon the green turf, and there the close box hedge that walled away the rose-garden. Beyond the sunk fence a gap showed an acre or so of Bull’s Mead – a great deep meadow, and in it two horses beneath a chestnut tree, their long tails a-swish, sleepily nosing each other to rout the flies; while in the distance the haze of heat hung like a film over the rolling hills. Close at hand echoed the soft impertinence of a cuckoo, and two fat wood-pigeons waddled about the lawn, picking and stealing as they went. The sky was cloudless, and there was not a breath of wind.
The stable clock chimed the half-hour.
My sister returned to the attack.
“Are you coming, Boy?”
“Yes,” said I. “I am.”
Berry sat up and stared at me.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “There’s a service this morning. Besides, they’ve changed the lock of the poor-box.”
“I want to watch the Vicar’s face when he sees you,” said I.
“It will be a bit of a shock,” said Jonah, looking up from the paper. “Is his heart all right?”
“Rotten,” said Daphne. “But that doesn’t matter. I sent him a note to warn him yesterday.”
“What did you say?” demanded her husband.
“I said, ‘We’re back at last, and – don’t faint – we’re all coming to Church tomorrow, and you’ve got to come back to lunch.’ And now, for goodness’ sake, go and change.”
“But we shall perspire,” said Berry. “Profusely. To walk half a mile in this sun is simply asking for it. Besides—”
“What’s the car done?” said Jonah. “I’m going, and I can’t hurry with this.” He tapped his short leg affectionately. “We needn’t take Fitch. Boy or I can drive.”
“Right oh,” said my sister, rising. “ Is ten-minutes-to early enough?
Jonah nodded.
“This,” said Berry, “is a conspiracy for which you will all pay. Literally. I shall take the plate round, and from you four I shall accept nothing but paper. Possibly I shall—”
Here the girls fell upon him and bore him protesting into the house and out of earshot.
“Who’s going to look after the car while we’re in church?” said I.
“There’s sure to be somebody ready to earn a couple of bob,” said Jonah. “Besides, we can always disconnect the north-east trunnion, or jack her up and put the wheels in the vestry or something.”
“All right. Only we don’t want her pinched.” With a yawn I rose to my feet. “And now I suppose I’d better go and turn her out.”
“Right oh,” said Jonah, picking up his paper again.
I strolled into the house.
We were proud of the car. She was a 1914 Rolls, and we had bought her at a long price less than a week ago. Fresh from the coach-builder’s, her touring body was painted silver-grey, while her bonnet was of polished aluminium. Fitted with every conceivable accessory, she was very good-looking, charming alike to ride or drive, and she went like the wind. In a word, she did as handsome as she was.
It was eight minutes to eleven as we slid past the lodge and on to the Bilberry road.
Before we had covered two furlongs, we swung round a corner to see a smart two-seater at rest by the dusty hedgerow, and a slight dark girl in fresh blue and white standing with one foot on the step, wiping her dainty fingers on a handful of cotton-waste.
“Agatha!” cried Daphne and Jill. “Stop, Boy, stop!”
Obediently I slowed to a standstill, as my lady came running after us.
“You might have told me,” she panted. “I never knew you were back. And I am so glad.”
“We only arrived on Friday, dear,” said Daphne, and introduced Berry and me. Jonah, it appeared, had met Miss Deriot at tennis in 1914.
“But you had your hair down then,” he said gravely.
“It’s a wonder I haven’t got it down now,” said Miss Deriot. “Why didn’t you come along ten minutes earlier? Then you could have changed my tyre.”
“And why are you driving away from church?” said Jill.
“One of the colts has sprained his shoulder, and we’re out of embrocation; so I’m going to get some from Brooch.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Berry eagerly, preparing to leave the car. “I don’t like to think of you—”
“Nonsense,” said Daphne, detaining him.
“But supposing she has another puncture?”
“Yes, I can see you mending it on a day like this.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Miss Deriot, with a puzzled smile.
“Don’t thank the fool,” said my sister. “If I thought he’d be the slightest use to you, I’d send him; but he only wants an excuse to get out of going to church.”
“Poor jade,” said her husband. “I am a knight, a simple starlit knight, a Quixote of today. Your brutish instincts—”
“Carry on, Boy,” said Daphne. I let in the clutch. “And come over this afternoon, Agatha, and we’ll tell you all about everything.”
“Yes, do,” cried Jill.
“All right,” said Miss Deriot. “So long.”
Three minutes later I was berthing the car close to the lich-gate in the shade of sweet-smelling limes, that made a trembling screen of foliage within the churchyard wall.
As luck would have it, Will Noggin, once a groom in our service and now a trooper of the Dragoon Guards, was leaning lazily against the grey wall, taking his ease. As we drew abreast of him, he stood to attention and saluted, a pleased grin of recognition lighting his healthy face. We greeted him gladly.
“Glad to see you’re all right, Will,” said Jill.
“Thank you, miss.”
“Aren’t you going to church?” said Daphne.
“Not today, m’m. I’m on leave, and I’ve ’ad my share o’ church parades i’ the last four years, m’m.”
We all laughed.
“Well, if you’re not going,” said I, “we want some one to keep an eye on the car.”
“I’ll do it gladly, sir.”
“Right oh! She’s a pretty piece of goods, isn’t she?”
“She is that, sir,” said Will, visibly impressed.
As I followed the others into the porch, I glanced back to see our sentinel walking about his charge, bending an appreciative gaze upon her points.
They were singing the Venite.
On the ledge of our old pew lay a note addressed to “Major Pleydell” in the Vicar’s handwriting. When Berry had read it he passed it to Daphne, and I was able to read it over her shoulder.
DEAR MAJOR,
Sometimes in the old days you used to read the Lessons. I think we should all like it if you would do so today; but don’t, if you don’t want to.
Yours very sincerely,
JOHN BAGOT.
In a postscript the writer named the appointed passages of Holy Writ.
So soon as the first Psalm had started Berry stepped to the lectern, found his places and cast his eye over the text. Before the second Psalm was finished, he was once more in his place.
Doors and windows were open as wide as they could be set, and the little church was flooded with light and fresh warm air, that coaxed the edge from the chill of thick stone walls and pillars, and made the frozen pavements cool and refreshing. Mustiness was clean gone, swept from her frequent haunts by the sweet breath of Nature. The “dim, religious light” of Milton’s ordering was this day displaced by Summer’s honest smile, simpler maybe, but no less reverent. And, when the singing was stilled, you overheard the ceaseless sleepy murmur of that country choir of birds and beasts and insects that keeps its rare contented symphony for summer days in which you can find no fault.
My impious eye wandered affectionately over familiar friends – the old oak pews, almost chin-high, the Spanish organ, the reluctant gift of a proud galleon wrecked on the snarling coast ten miles away, the old “three-decker” with its dull crimson cushions and the fringed cloths that hung so stiffly. A shaft of sunlight beat full on an old black hatchment, making known the faded quarterings, while, underneath, a slender panel of brass, but two years old, showed that the teaching of its grim forbear had not been vain.
For so fair a morning, Bilberry village had done well. The church was two-thirds full, and, though there were many strange faces, it was pleasant here and there to recognize one we had known in the old days, and to learn from an involuntary smile that we had not been forgotten.
It was just after the beginning of the Second Lesson that we heard the engine start. There was no mistaking the purr of our Rolls-Royce. For a second the girls and Jonah and I stared at one another, panic-stricken. Then with one impulse we all started instinctively to our feet. As I left the pew I heard Daphne whisper, “Hsh! We can’t all–” and she and Jonah and Jill sank back twittering. Berry’s eyes met mine for an instant as I stepped into the aisle. They spoke volumes, but to his eternal credit his voice never faltered.
I almost ran to the porch, and I reached the lich-gate to see our beautiful car, piloted by a man in a grey hat, scudding up the straight white road, while in her wake tore a gesticulating trooper, shouting impotently, ridiculously out-distanced. Even as I watched, the car flashed round a bend and disappeared.
For a moment I stood still in the middle of the road, stupefied. Then I heard a horn sounded behind me, and I mechanically stepped to one side. Fifty yards away was the two-seater we had encountered on our way to church.
Frantically I signalled to the girl at the wheel. As I did so, a burst of music signified that the Second Lesson had come to an end.
“Whatever’s the matter?” cried Miss Deriot, as she pulled up.
“Somebody’s pinched the Rolls. Will you—”
“Of course. Get in. Which way did they go?”
“Straight ahead,” said I, opening the door.
We were well under way before I had taken my seat. As we came to the bend I threw a glance over my shoulder, to see four figures that I knew standing without the lich-gate. They appeared to be arguing. As we turned the corner a stentorian voice yelled—
“The Bloodstock road, sir! I can see their blinkin’ dust.”
Perched on one of the lower branches of a wayside oak, Will Noggin was pointing a shaking finger in the direction he named.
We were less than three miles from Bloodstock when the off hind tyre burst. Miss Deriot brought the car to the side of the road and stopped in the shadow of an old barn.
“That,” she said, “has just done it.”
I opened the door and stepped down into the road.
“It means a delay when we least want it,” said I ruefully.
“Worse. I’ve had one burst already, and I only brought one spare wheel.”
I whistled.
“Then we are indeed done,” said I. “I’m awfully sorry. Heaven knows how far you are from your home. This comes of helping a comparative stranger. Let it be a lesson to you.”
My companion smiled.
“I don’t mind for myself,” she said, “but what about your car?”
I spread out my hands.
“Reason dictates that I should foot-slog it to Bloodstock and try and get the police moving; but I can’t leave you here.”
“You can easily, but you’re not going to. I don’t want to sit here for the rest of the day.” She pointed to the barn. “Help me to get her in here, and then we’ll push off to Bloodstock together.”
A hurried reconnaissance led to the discovery of a little farmhouse, and two minutes later I was making urgent representations to the owner of the barn. To our relief the latter proved sympathetic and obliging, and before we again took to the road the two-seater was safely under lock and key.
“And now,” said Miss Deriot, “how did it happen?”
“The theft? I can’t imagine. We left that fool who yelled at us in charge. I suppose he left her to get a drink or something. This is only the fourth time we’ve had her out,” I added gloomily.
“Oh, I say! Never mind. You’re bound to get her again. Look at that meadow-sweet. Isn’t it lovely? I wish I could paint. Can you?”
“I painted a key-cupboard once. It was hung, too. Outside the stillroom.”
“Pity you didn’t keep it up,” said Miss Deriot. “It’s a shame to waste talent like that. Isn’t it just broiling? I should love a bathe now.”
“I hope you don’t wear stockings in the water,” said I.
Miss Deriot glanced at her white ankles.
“Is that a reflection?” she demanded.
I shook my head.
“By no manner of means. But there’s a place for everything, isn’t there? I mean—”
We both laughed.
“That’s better,” said my companion. “I couldn’t bear to see you so worried this beautiful morning.”
“My dear,” said I, “you’ve a nice kind heart, and I thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Miss Deriot.
From the crown of her broad-brimmed hat to the soles of her buckskin shoes she was the pink of daintiness. Health was springing in her fresh cheeks, eagerness danced in her eyes, energy leapt from her carriage. Had she been haughty, you would have labelled her “Diana,” and have done with it; but her eyes were gentle, and there was a tenderness about her small mouth that must have pardoned Actaeon. A plain gold wrist-watch on a black silk strap was all her jewellery.
“We’d better strike across the next field,” said Miss Deriot. “There’s a path that’ll bring us out opposite The Thatcher. It’ll save us about five minutes.”
“You might have been born here,” said I.
“I was,” said Agatha. She nodded towards a beech wood that stood a furlong away. “The trees hide the house. But we left when I was seven, and only came back to the County five years ago. And here’s our field.”
The five-barred gate was padlocked. I looked at my companion.
“Shall I get over, advance ten paces, and gaze into the middle distance? Or aren’t you that sort?”
Miss Deriot flung back her head and laughed.
“I’d rather you gave me a leg up,” she said.
With a hand on my shoulder and a foot in my hand, she was up and over in an instant. I vaulted after her.
“You know,” I said, “we ought to perform, you and I. With a painter’s ladder, a slack wire, and a little practice, we should do wonders. On non-matinée days I might even lift you with my teeth. That always goes well, and no one would know you were as light as a rose-leaf.”
“Seven stone three in the bathroom,” said Agatha. “Without stockings. Some rose-leaf.”
We were going uphill. The meadow through which we were passing sloped to an oaken fence, stoutly constructed to save the cattle from a perilous fall. For on its farther side the ground fell away sheer, so that at this point a bluff formed one high wall of the sunken road for which we were making. The Thatcher, I remembered, stood immediately opposite to the rough grass-grown steps, hewn years ago for the convenience of such passengers as we. There was a stile set in the fence, and as I swung myself over I glanced down past the edge of the bluff and into the road below.
In the little curved space that fronted the inn the Rolls was standing silent and unoccupied.
I must have exclaimed, for Agatha was over the stile in an instant, and asking me what was the matter. Then she saw, and the words died on her lips. Together we stood spellbound.
The door of the inn was shut, and there was no one in sight.
My first impulse was to dart down the steps, beat upon the door of the tavern, and confront the thief. But valour yielded to discretion. The great thing was to recover the car. I had but a slip of a girl with me, the spot was a lonely one, and it was more than likely that the highwayman was not working alone. Besides, Agatha must not be involved in any violence.
I turned to my lady.
“You stay here. I’m going to take her and drive straight to the police station. I’ll pick up some police and come back just as quickly as ever I can.”
Miss Deriot shook her pretty head.
“I’m coming with you,” she said. “Carry on.”
“But, my dear—”
“I often wish I wasn’t so obstinate.” She spoke meditatively. “But we’re all like that. Mules aren’t in it with the Deriots,” she added, with a dazzling smile.
“Neither, apparently, are cucumbers,” said I, and with that I began to descend the rough stairs, stepping as delicately as I could.
Halfway down I turned to look at my companion, and at that moment the step upon which I was standing gave way. The scrambling sounds which proclaimed my fall were followed by the rasping protest of yielding cloth, and I came to rest six feet from the road at the expense of a pre-War coat, which had caught the corner of one of the unplaned risers. All had been so still, that in that hollow place the noise could not have failed to attract the attention of any one who was within earshot, and I lay for a moment where I had fallen, straining my ears for the sound of footsteps or voices.
“Are you all right?” whispered a soft voice above me.
I turned my head and nodded. Miss Deriot, standing with clasped hands, heaved a sigh of relief and prepared to continue her descent.
Gingerly I stepped down into the sandy road and started to cross it a-tiptoe.
Facing towards Bloodstock, the car presented her off side to us.
With the utmost caution I proceeded to negotiate the two spare wheels and clamber into the driver’s seat. As I sat down, Miss Deriot slipped in front of the bonnet and round to the near side. She was opening the high side-door and my foot was on the self-starter, when I heard the murmur of voices.
We were not a second too soon.
The moment I had started the engine there was a cry, followed by the clattering of heavy shoes upon cobbles, and as the car slid into the road a man in a grey hat came tearing out of the inn’s courtyard, waving his arms and yelling like one possessed. Hard on his heels came pounding his supporters, three of them, all bellowing like bulls.
So much I saw for myself. Agatha, kneeling on the seat by my side, kept me informed of their movements till we swept out of sight.
“He’s simply dancing. The one in the grey hat, I mean. Now he’s shaking his fist at us. Oh, he’s mad. He’s thrown his hat on the ground. O-o-o, Boy, he’s trying to kick one of the others. Oh, I wish you could see…” The merry voice dissolved into peals of laughter.
Then the road curled, and Agatha turned left about and settled herself by my side.
“How did you know my Christian name?” I demanded.
“Your sister used it this morning. You see, I’ve forgotten your other, and I can’t keep on saying ‘you.’ But I won’t do it again.”
“Please, Agatha.”
“Deriot. One ‘r.’ I say, you’ve torn your coat properly.”
“It feels as if it was in two pieces,” said I.
“If it wasn’t for the collar, it would be,” said Agatha. “Never mind. Bare backs are still fashionable. And what’s a torn coat, when you’ve got the car again?”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “You’d hardly believe it,” I added, “but I can tell from the feel of her that some stranger’s been driving.”
“I can believe it. After all, a car’s just like a horse.”
As she spoke, we sped into the market square of Bloodstock. The police station stood in Love Lane, a couple of streets away.
Here a disappointment was in store. The sole representative of the Law was a station sergeant in his shirt-sleeves and a state of profuse perspiration. Between his lips was a penholder, and he held a telephone receiver to his left ear. In an adjoining room the bell of another telephone was ringing violently in long regular spasms, while, somewhere quite close, a dog was giving ceaseless vent to those short sharp barks which denote impatience of detention.
A sudden elevation of the sergeant’s eyebrows invited me to state my business, but before I had spoken two sentences he shifted the penholder from his mouth and shook his head.
“’Fraid I can’t ’elp you at the moment, sir. That’s the third car what’s been stole in this distric’ this mornin’. There’s a ’ole gang of ’em about. Every one excep’ me’s out after ’em now. ’Eaven knows when they’ll come in. An’ there’s that other telephone goin’ like mad, an’ the Chief Constable’s lef’ his bull-dawg tied up there, an’ ’e won’t let me within six foot of it.” He turned to blare into the mouthpiece. “’Ullo! ’Oo are you? ’Oo are you? Wot! Oh, I can’t bear it. ’Ere, for ’Eaven’s sake, ’old the line.” He set down the receiver, shook the sweat out of his eyes, and sank on to a stool. “Another blinkin’ car gone,” he said hoarsely. “I dunno wot’s the matter with the world. I wish I was back in France.”
Love Lane was a narrow street, so I did not attempt to turn the car, but drove on and presently out of the town by back streets on to the Bilberry road.
It would have been better if I had telephoned to White Ladies before leaving Bloodstock, to announce my recovery of the car; but I was expecting to be back there so soon that it seemed unnecessary.
Indeed, it was only when we were once more under way that I thought of the colt and the embrocation, to say nothing of my lady’s two-seater, now standing helpless in the gloom of the wayside barn.
“I tell you what,” said I. “We’ll drive to the barn and pick up the lotion, and then I’ll take you home. Then I can run your chauffeur back to the barn with a spare cover, drop him there, and push off to White Ladies.”
“I can improve on that,” said Agatha, with a glance at her wrist. “It’ll be past one by the time we get home, so you must stay to lunch. You can telephone to White Ladies from there. And afterwards I’ll go back with you – I was to come over this afternoon, wasn’t I? – and we can drop the chauffeur at the barn on the way. And he can come for me in the evening.”
Agatha was living at Broadacre, a fine old place on the edge of the forest itself, and thither we came without incident, just as an old-fashioned gong was summoning the household to meat.
Admiral and Mrs Deriot were kindness itself. First I was given a long, cold, grateful drink. Then the old sailor led me to his own chamber and ministered personally to my wants. My coat was given to a maid to be roughly stitched, and when I appeared at luncheon it was in a jacket belonging to my host. Our story was told and retold, the lawlessness of the year of Grace 1919 was bewailed, and a violent denunciation of motor-thieves was succeeded by a bitter proscription of the County Police.
In the midst of my entertainment I remembered that I had not telephoned to White Ladies, but the servant sent to make the connection was informed by the Exchange that the line was out of order.
“I expect it’s fused,” said I. “With Berry at one end and that station sergeant at the other, the strain must have been fearful.”
It was half-past two before we were once more in the car. On the back seat sat the Deriots’ chauffeur, holding a spare wheel between his knees.
It did not take us long to reach the barn, and, so soon as we had once more unearthed the farmer, authorized him to suffer the chauffeur to remove the two-seater, and discharged our debt for “accommodation,” I turned the Rolls round and headed for White Ladies.
“She’s certainly a beautiful car,” said Agatha, as the Rolls sailed up a treacherously steep gradient on top. “It’s like being in a lift.”
“And, but for you, we might never have seen her again. Shall I give you a stamp album, or would you like to drive?”
“D’you really mean that?” said Miss Deriot.
I shot her a glance. There was no mistaking the eagerness of her parted lips and the sparkle of her gay brown eyes. By way of replying I brought the car to a standstill. A moment later we had changed places.
“It’s awfully kind of you,” said Agatha delightedly, as she let in the clutch. “I’ve always wanted to drive a Rolls. I hope I shan’t hurt her.”
“You’ll do her good,” said I. “I watched you in the two-seater. You’ve got beautiful hands.”
“Thank you, Boy.”
“Now you shall have a stamp album as well. Go carefully here. There used to be a wasps’ nest in that bank, but it’s closed now, same as the German banks. What a war!”
“But I don’t collect stamps.”
“Then she shall have a dog. What about a Sealyham to sleep on your bed and bite the postman?”
“I’d love one,” said Agatha.
“And you’ll sit up in bed in the morning, with your hair all about your eyes, and smile at him, and he’ll growl back at you – I can just see you.”
“Thanks awfully. But you’re wrong about my hair.”
“Is it never unruly?”
“Only by day. I wish to goodness I could wear it down.”
“So do I. Then we could all sit on it when the grass was wet. At the moment there’s a particularly beautiful tress caressing your left shoulder. And I think you ought to know that the wind is kissing it quite openly. It’s all very embarrassing. I hope I shan’t catch it,” I added cheerfully.
Miss Deriot made a supreme effort to look severe.
“If you do,” she said uncertainly, “I shall drive straight into the horse-pond.”
“‘Sh!” said I reprovingly. “You oughtn’t to jest about such things. You might catch it yourself. Easily.” Here we passed the horse-pond. “You know you’ll never be able to look fierce so long as you have that dimple. You’ll have to fill it up or something. I suppose it’s full of dew every morning now.”
Without a word Agatha slowed down, turned up a by-road, and stopped. Then she proceeded to back the car.
“What on earth is she doing?” said I.
She turned a glowing face to mine.
“Going back to the horse-pond,” she flashed.
I laid a hand on her arm and she stopped.
“My dear, if you must have a bath, you shall have one directly you get to White Ladies. I’ll turn on the water for you. But let me beg of you—”
“If I go on, will you promise to behave?”
“Faithfully.”
“And fold your arms and sit like a groom all the way?”
“I suppose you couldn’t make it a footman. Then I could stand on the petrol tank. However, as it’s your birthday—”
I folded my arms with a sigh. Instantly Agatha leaned towards me with a dazzling smile.
“Good Boy,” she said in a caressing tone. “Now he shall have a stamp album.”
“But I don’t collect stamps.”
The smile deepened. But for her red mouth, her little white teeth would have been the prettiest things in the world.
“Well, I’d thought of a stamp album,” she said slowly. “However, as it’s your birthday—”
A minute later we were back in the main road.
By my direction Miss Deriot drove straight to the stables, and we left the car standing in the middle of the yard.
As we walked round to the front of the house, “We won’t tell the others that we’ve found her just yet,” said I. “We’ll hear what they’ve got to say first.”
“Perhaps they’re all out looking for her,” said Agatha.
“Not all. Daphne’s sure to be here somewhere.”
As I spoke we rounded a clump of laurels to see the lady in question comfortably ensconced in a deck-chair upon the lawn. By her side was Jill, seated upon a cushion, one little foot tucked under her, nursing the other’s instep with her slim, brown hand. On a rug at her feet lay Jonah, his chin propped between his two palms and a pipe in his mouth.
All three were gazing contentedly across the grass to where the drive swept wide to the foot of the broad grey steps. There stood a handsome Rolls-Royce, the facsimile of the one from which we had just alighted.
With a great gasp Agatha stopped dead, and I recoiled as from a spectre. Instinctively we clasped one another.
“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I’ve seen it too. It’ll go away in a moment. Shows what imagination will do.”
“But – but it’s real!” cried Agatha.
“Real enough, my lady,” said Jonah’s voice. He seemed to be speaking from a great distance. “And I’ll bet you never expected to see her again so soon,” he added, looking at me with a smile.
“To tell you the truth,” said I, “we didn’t.”
As in a dream I watched a dazed and stammering Agatha made welcome and set in a chair by my sister’s side. Somebody – Jill, I fancy – led me to the rug and persuaded me to sit down. Mechanically I started to fumble for a cigarette. Then I heard Jonah talking, and I came to my senses.
“We thought you’d be surprised,” he was saying, “but I didn’t think it’d take you like this. After all, there’s nothing uncanny about it.”
“But I don’t understand—”
“Listen. Will Noggin was sitting in the car when he heard a crash, and there was a fellow lying in the middle of the road, about fifty yards away, with a push-bike beside him. Naturally Will jumped out and ran to his help. The man seemed to be having a fit, and Will was just loosening his collar, when he heard the engine start and saw the Rolls moving. He left the chap in the road and ran like mad, but he was too late. Nobody ever saw the fellow with the push-bike again. Of course he was one of the gang, and his fall was a put-up job to get Will out of the way. Pretty smart – what?
“Well, you hadn’t been gone five minutes when Fitch arrived on his motor-bike. He’d come to bring us a can of petrol, for after we’d left he remembered the tank was almost empty.
“That gave me a bit of hope. If they stuck to the main road you were pretty well bound to catch them, for Fitch swore they’d never get five miles. But, of course, they might turn off. So I thought the rest of us had better follow and search the by-roads for all we were worth. So I sat on Fitch’s carrier with the can under one arm, and Daphne commandeered the curate’s push-bike and sent Berry after us.”
“Isn’t he back yet?” said I, looking round.
“Not yet,” said Jonah, with a grin.
“And doesn’t he know she’s found?”
“That pleasure is still awaiting him. Well, Fitch was right. We left the Bloodstock road for the second time at Dew Thicket, and at the foot of the hill there she was, dry as a bone, but as right as rain.”
“Abandoned?”
“Apparently. Anyway, there was no one in sight. I sent Fitch after you and drove her home. Fitch had a burst directly he’d left me, and had to walk back to Bilberry.”
“Is that all?” said I.
“Well, it’s enough, isn’t it?”
“Not nearly,” said I, rising to my feet. “Kindly accompany me to the stables.”
“What d’you mean, Boy?” cried Jill.
“’Sh!” said I. “Come and see.”
In silence I led the way, Agatha treading solemnly by my side. As we turned under the archway that led to the stable-yard—
“You see,” I said carelessly, “we, too, have met with some success.”
The Rolls was standing where I had left her, waiting to be backed into the garage.
My sister gave a cry and caught at Jonah’s arm. Jonah started violently and smothered an exclamation. Jill put one hand to her eyes, as if to brush away a vision.
There was a long silence.
At length I turned to Jonah.
“I fear that you were hasty, brother. A moment’s reflection will show you that you and Fitch have spoiled some poor car-owner’s day. Let me suggest that you return your ill-gotten gains to the foot of the hill beyond Dew Thicket without delay. As a matter of fact, I know the police are very concerned about this theft. It was the fourth in this district this morning.”
Fitch came forward, touching his hat.
“It’s a mistake anybody might make, sir. They’re as like as two pins.” He pointed to the car. “She’s the spit of ours, she is.”
“Don’t be silly,” said I. “I admit they’re exactly alike, but that’s ours.”
Fitch shook his head.
“Different chassis number, sir, to say nothing of the number-plates.”
I stared at him. Then—
“Nonsense,” I said sturdily.
“It’s a fact, sir. The one in the front’s ours. I’m afraid you’ve stole somebody else’s car.”
We had returned to the front of the house and were wondering what to do, when our attention was attracted by a sudden outburst of cries and the noise of a car’s tyres tearing at the road. This lay but a hundred odd yards away on the farther side of the brown stream by which the lawn was edged. For the length of a cricket pitch the hedgerow bounding the highway was visible from where we stood, and as this was not more than four feet high, we were able to observe a scene which was clearly but the prologue to a drama in which we were presently to appear.
Under the explosive directions of a man in a grey hat, who was standing upright and holding on to the windscreen, frantic efforts were being made to turn what seemed to be a small touring car. Even as we looked, a savage gesture in our direction suggested that our friend was identifying the Rolls by our side as stolen property for the benefit of four individuals who crouched timorously behind him. To my consternation I observed that these were no less than an inspector and three constables of the County Police.
The next minute the car had been turned round and was being driven rapidly back to our lodge-gates.
“Leave them to me,” said Jonah quietly. “Go and sit down on the lawn, all of you. I’ll fix them.”
“That’s the fellow,” said Grey Hat, in a shaking voice, “and that’s his accomplice.” He pointed a fat hand at myself and Agatha in turn.
“I beg your pardon,” said Jonah. Grey Hat turned and looked him up and down. “Were you wanting anything? I mean, I live here.”
“I don’t know who you are,” came the reply. “But that’s my car, and those are the people who stole it.”
“One thing at a time. My name’s Mansel.”
“I’m the Chief Constable of the County.”
“Good. Now, about the car. I was under the impression that it was mine.”
“Don’t try and bluff me, sir,” roared the other. “You know perfectly well that that car was stolen from the outskirts of Bloodstock only a few hours ago. You’re a receiver, sir, a common–” He checked himself with an effort. “Inspector!” The officer addressed came forward and saluted. “Caution the three of them.”
“Hadn’t you better identify your property first?” said Jonah. “I mean, I don’t want to interfere, but if it’s a question of our arrest—”
The inspector hesitated, and the Chief Constable’s face took on a darker shade of red. He was a coarse-looking man, generously designed and expensively over-dressed. For a moment I thought he was going to strike Jonah. Then he caught a heavy underlip in his teeth, turned on his heel, and strode to the Rolls-Royce.
He cast a proprietor’s eye over her points. Then he stepped behind her as though to come to her other side. The next second he was back and shaking his fist in Jonah’s face.
“So you’ve had the infernal audacity to alter the number-plates, have you?” he yelled. “Thought to bluff me, I suppose. You impudent—”
“One moment,” said Jonah steadily. “Without looking at the dash, tell me your chassis number. Your chauffeur should know it.”
“One double seven eight,” came parrot-wise from the lips of the gentleman referred to.
“Thank you,” said Jonah.
Grey Hat almost ran to the Rolls, tore open the bonnet, and stared at the dash – stared…
We waited in a silence so charged with expectancy as to be almost unbearable.
At last the Chief Constable straightened his back. His eyes were bulging and his face redder than ever. Twice he essayed to speak without success. Then—
“I said it was my car,” said Jonah placidly.
For a moment Grey Hat stood glaring at him. Then, muttering something about “a mistake,” he started to lurch towards the police car. As the officers turned shamefacedly to follow their chief, Jonah’s parade voice rang out.
“Stop!” At the word of command, master and men alike stood still where they were. “My friends and I have been openly accused of felony and threatened with arrest.”
The Chief Constable swallowed before replying.
“I was mistaken,” he said thickly. “I – I apologize.”
“You mean to say you believed that to be your car?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“It’s exactly like it.”
“There must be some difference.”
“There’s no difference at all. If mine were here, I’d defy you to tell them apart.”
“Do you seriously suggest that I shouldn’t know my own car?”
“I do.”
“And that such a mistake on my part would be excusable?”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you,” said Jonah. “That excusable mistake was made this morning. My car was stolen and sought for. Your car was found. If you will accompany me to the stables, I shall be happy to restore it to you at once.”
Grey Hat started forward, his face transfigured with excitement and relief.
“You mean to say–” he began.
“Come, sir,” said Jonah icily. “I feel sure that the ladies will excuse your withdrawal.”
It was half an hour later, just when we were finishing tea, that a cry from Jill made us all turn to follow her gaze down the curling drive.
Twenty paces away was Berry, plodding slowly in our direction, wheeling a tired-looking bicycle. His clothes were thick with dust, his collar was like a piece of wet rag, and on his face there was a look of utter and profound resignation.
As we started to our feet—
“Don’t touch me,” he said. “I’m leading in the Marathon race. The conditions are fearful. Competitors are required not only to walk, but at the same time to propel a bicycle, the hind tyre of which must be deflated. You’re only allowed five falls, and I’ve used four of them.” With a final effort he reached the edge of the lawn and laid the bicycle gently on its side. “‘How we brought the good news from Aix to Ghent,’” he continued. “Yes, I see the car, but I’m not interested. During the last five hours my life has been so crowded with incident that there is no room for anything else. Isn’t there a cycling club about here I can join? I’ve always fancied a grey sweater.”
“Did I hear you say that you had fallen, brother?” said I.
“You did. Four times were these noble limbs prostrated in the dust. The first time was when the handle-bars came off. Oh, it’s a beautiful machine.” Solemnly he waited for the laughter to subside. “But she doesn’t turn easily. If my blood counts, there are at least three corners in the County that are for ever England. And now will somebody fetch the Vicar? I shan’t last long. And some drinks.” He stretched himself upon the grass. “Several drinks. All together in a large vessel.”
Jill fled, weak with laughter, to execute his commands. Berry proceeded to remove his collar and tie.
“I can’t think,” he said suddenly, “why they call them safety bicycles. I suppose it’s because they strike only on the box.” He turned to Daphne. “Since I left you this morning, woman, I have walked with Death. Oh, more than once. Of course I’ve walked without him, too. Miles and miles.” He groaned. “I never knew there was so much road.”
“Didn’t you do any riding?” said Jonah. “I know they’re called push-bikes, but that’s misleading. Lots of people ride them. That’s what the saddle’s for.”
“Foul drain,” said my brother-in-law, “your venomous bile pollutes the crystal flood of my narration. Did I ride? That was the undoing of the sage. When he recovered consciousness for the second time, it was to discover that the chain was missing and that the back tyre was windless. In my endeavours to find the chain I lost myself. That reminds me. I must put an advertisement in The Times to the effect that any one returning a bicycle-chain to White Ladies will be assaulted. I have no desire to be reminded of today. If anybody had told me you could cover about fifty miles of open road in England without meeting anything but road-hogs, who not only failed to stop when I hailed them, but choked and blinded me with their filthy dust, I should have prayed for his soul. And not a pub open!”
He stopped to watch with a glistening eye the approach of Jill, bearing a tankard in one hand and a large jug of some beverage in the other.
“What is it?” he said.
“Shandy-gaff.”
“Heaven will reward you, darling, as I shan’t.” He took a long draught. “And yet I don’t know. I’ve got an old pair of riding-breeches I don’t want, if they’re any use to you.”
There was a shriek from Agatha and Jill.
“Is anybody going to church?” said Daphne, consulting her wristwatch.
Berry choked.
Gravely I regarded him.
“Run along and change,” said I. “And you can return the curate his bicycle at the same time. Besides, a walk’ll do you good.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he replied. “Two hours ago I registered a vow. I shall drink no water till it is accomplished.”
“Let’s hear it,” said I.
“To offer no violence to a fool for six months,” said Berry, refilling his tankard. “By the way, you’ll have to be very careful when you take off my boots. They’re very full of foot this evening.” He sank back and closed his eyes. “You know I never look at the almanac, but before I was up this morning I knew that this was a blue-letter day.”
“How?” said his wife.
“I left a stud within the bath, and heard Jonah find it.” He spread out a dramatic arm.
“And he thereon did only sit,
So blind he couldn’t see,
And then the fat-head yelled and swore,
Not at himself, but me.”
