‘Oh, ah, yes. Why, sure,’ said Otis. ‘Thirty might be nicer.’ ‘You don’t want to skimp.’
‘That’s right. You don’t.’
‘And publicity. You believe in lots of that, I hope?’
‘Oh, sure.’
‘Fine. She was always complaining that her last publishers wouldn’t push her books.’
‘The poor fish. I mean, fishes.’
‘Used to stall her off with a lot of rot about all that counted being word-of-mouth advertising.’
‘Crazy saps.’
‘You intend to advertise largely?’
‘In all the literate Sunday papers.’
‘How about the literate weeklies?’
‘In those, too. I also thought of sandwich men and posters on the walls.’
Bill had not supposed that he would ever be able to regard this man with affection, but he did so now. He still had him docketed as a libertine, but indulgence must be accorded to libertines whose hearts are in the right place.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Posters on the walls? Yes, fine.’
‘Of course,’ said Otis, ‘all that kind of thing costs money.’
‘Well spent,’ Bill pointed out.
‘Sure,’ agreed Otis. ‘Don’t get the idea that I’m weakening. But it begins to look as if I may have to dig up a little more capital from somewhere. There isn’t any too much of it in the old sock. You wouldn’t feel like putting a thousand pounds into my business, would you?’
‘That’s an idea. Or two?’
‘Or three? Or, say, look why not five? Nice round number.’
‘Would you call five a round number?’
‘I think so.’
‘All right,’ said Bill. ‘Five, then.’
Otis’s eyes closed again, this time in silent ecstasy. He had had his dreams, of course. Somewhere in the world, he had told himself, there must be angels in human shape willing to put money into a shaky publishing firm. But never had he really supposed that he would meet one, and still less that, if he did, such an angel would go as high as five thousand.
Opening his eyes, he found that he was alone. His benefactor had either been snatched back to heaven or had gone round the corner to the terrace. He took his bicycle from behind the tree and flung himself on the saddle like a gay professional rider. And when half-way down the drive he had another of those unfortunate spills, he merely smiled amusedly, as one good-naturedly recognizing that the laugh is on him.
Life looked very good to Otis Painter. In the old left bank days he had been at some pains to cultivate a rather impressive pessimism, but now he was pure optimism from side-whiskers to shoe sole.
If Pippa had happened to pass at that moment, singing of God being in His heaven and all right with the world, he would have shaken her by the hand and told her he knew just how she felt.
Bill had not been snatched up to heaven. It was to the terrace that he had made his way on leaving Otis, and he had not been there many minutes when Lord Ickenham appeared, walking jauntily like a man whose forty winks in a field has refreshed him. At the sight of Bill he hurried forward with outstretched hand.
‘My dear chap, a thousand congratulations.’ Bill gaped. This seemed to him clairvoyance. ‘How on earth did you know?’
Lord Ickenham explained that his young friend’s ecstatic expression, rather like that of a cherub or seraph on the point of singing Hosanna, would alone have been enough to tell him.
‘But, as a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I had the news from an acquaintance of mine whom I met bicycling along the road just now. Well, when I say bicycling along the road, he was lying in a ditch with his feet in the air, chuckling softly. He told me everything. It seems that he was a witness of the proceedings, and he speaks highly of your technique. You strode up and grabbed her by the wrist, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Waggled her about a bit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then clasped her to your bosom and showered kisses on her upturned face?’
‘Yes.’
‘With the results that might have been anticipated. I told you the Ickenham system never fails. Brought up against it, the proudest beauty wilts and signs on the dotted line. It saddens you a little now, no doubt, to think of all the years you wasted on timid devotion.’
‘It does, rather.’
‘Timid devotion gets a lover nowhere. I was chatting with Miss Bean this morning, and she was telling me that she had a good deal of trouble at one time with Constable Potter owing to his devotion being so timid. She says that in the early days of his courtship he used to walk her out and chew his moustache and talk about the situation in China, but no real action. So one evening she said “Come on, my lad, get on with it,” and he got on with it. And after that everything went like clockwork.’
‘Fine,’ said Bill absently. He had been thinking of Hermione. ‘Potter?’ he went on, his mind returning from its flights. ‘That reminds me. You haven’t a bit of raw steak on you, have you?’
Lord Ickenham felt in his pockets.
‘Sorry, no. I seem to have come out without any. Why? You feel peckish?’
‘Elsie Bean was out here a moment ago, saying she was in the market for a bit of raw steak. It’s needed for Potter. Apparently someone has been sloshing him in the eye.’
‘Indeed? Who?’
‘I didn’t gather. Her story was confused. I seemed to catch some mention of Pongo, but would Pongo punch policemen in the eye?’
‘It seems unlikely.’
‘I must have got the name wrong. Still, there it is. Someone has given Potter a shiner, and he’s fed to the tonsils. You see, he got pushed into the duck pond this afternoon, and now on top of that comes this biff in the eye, so he feels he’s had enough of being a policeman. He’s chucking it up and buying a pub, Elsie tells me. She seemed rather braced about it.’
Lord Ickenham drew a deep, slow breath of contentment and satisfaction. He looked pleased with himself, and who shall blame him? A man whose mission in life it is to spread sweetness and light and to bring the young folk together may surely be forgiven a touch of complacency when happy endings start going off like crackers all round him and he sees the young folk coming together in droves.
‘Great news, Bill Oakshott,’ he said. ‘This is … what is that neat expression of yours? Ah, yes, “fine!” … This is fine. You’re all right. Pongo’s all right. And now the divine Bean is all right. It reminds one of the final spasm of a musical comedy.’ He paused and regarded his companion with some surprise. ‘Are you wearing woolly winter underclothing?’ he asked.
‘Me? No. Why?’
‘You keep wriggling, as though something were irritating the epidermis.’
Bill blushed.
‘Well, as a matter of fact,’ he confessed, ‘I’m finding it awfully difficult to keep still. After what’s happened, I mean. You know how it is.’
‘I do, indeed. I, too, have lived in Arcady. You would like to go for a long, rapid walk and work off steam? Of course you would. Push off, then.’
‘You don’t mind me leaving you?’
‘Well, one hates to lose you, of course, but better a temporary separation than that you should burst all over the terrace. Au revoir, then, and once more a thousand congratulations.’
Bill disappeared round the corner like a dog let off the chain, gathering momentum with every stride. His pace was so good and his preoccupation so intense that it was not until he was out in the open road a mile away that it suddenly came to him that he had omitted to inform Lord Ickenham of the arrival of Major Plank.
He paused, debated within himself the advisability of going back, decided that it was too late and walked on. And presently Lord Ickenham and Major Plank had faded from his mind and he was thinking again exclusively in terms of wedding bells and honeymoons.
As things turned out, it would have been unnecessary for him to retrace his steps, for almost immediately after his departure Major Plank came out of the house,
wiping butter from his lips.
‘Hullo, Barmy,’ he said, sighting Lord Ickenham. ‘You’re too late for the muffins. I’ve finished them. And very good they were, too.’ He replaced his handkerchief. ‘You’re surprised to see me here, aren’t you? Thought you’d baffled me, eh? Well, what happened was that shortly after you left the pub that well-nourished girl behind the bar told me the bonny baby contest was off. So along I came.’
Lord Ickenham had given a slight start on seeing his old friend, but his voice, when he spoke, was as calm and level as ever.
‘Off, is it? Why?’
‘Outbreak of measles. Thousands stricken.’
‘I see. And have you exposed me?’
‘Exposed you is right.’
‘Did Mugsy seem interested?’
‘Most.’
‘One sees how he might well be, of course. You’re a ruthless old bird, Bimbo.’
Major Plank bridled.
‘Ruthless be blowed. I merely took the necessary steps to protect my reputation. And what do you mean, “Old bird”? I’m a year younger than you. My idea of an old bird is Mugsy. I was shocked when I saw how he had aged. He looks like that chap in the Bible, Methuselah, the fellow who lived to a thousand and ate grass.’
‘Methuselah didn’t eat grass.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘He never ate grass in his life. You’re thinking of Nebuchadnezzar.’
‘Oh, am I? Well, the principle’s the same. And now I suppose you’ll be sliding off. You’d have done better to start packing when I told you to. Still, you’re in luck in one way. You won’t run into Mugsy. He’s in that room over there, holding a court martial.’
‘A what?’
‘Court martial. There have been all sorts of stirring goings-on here. Just as I was finishing the muffins, a policeman with a black eye barged into the drawing-room with a tall, thin, light-haired young chap in one hand and a dashed pretty girl in a red jacket in the other, and said that the girl had pushed him into a duck pond and that when he was starting to apprehend her the light-haired young chap had biffed him in the eye. And Mugsy has taken them into that room there and is sitting on the case. I gather he’s a magistrate or something and so is entitled to execute summary justice. I’m sorry for that young couple. It looks like a sticky weekend for them.’
Lord Ickenham gave his moustache a thoughtful twirl.
‘Leave me, Bimbo,’ he said. ‘I would be alone.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to ponder.’
‘Oh, ponder? Right ho! I’ll go back and have some more strawberries,’ said Major Plank.
He returned to the drawing-room, and Lord Ickenham, left alone, lost no time in giving himself up to that survey of ways and means which the other’s presence had hindered. For some moments he paced up and down, his hands behind his back and a concentrated look in his eye. The tautness of his features showed that his agile brain was not sparing itself.
And presently it was plain that it had given service. His face cleared. The lips beneath the trim moustache curved in a contented smile.
He crossed the terrace and went into the collection room.
Only Sir Aylmer was in the collection room when he entered. He, too, was wearing a contented smile.
For the first time that evening Sir Aylmer was feeling cheerful; as cheerful as a Colosseum lion which after a trying day when everything has gone wrong has found itself unexpectedly presented with a couple of Christian martyrs and has been able to deal faithfully with them. There is nothing which so braces up a chairman of a bench of magistrates in times of despondency as the infliction of a sharp sentence on a pair of criminals. It would be too much to say that he regarded Lord Ickenham amiably, but he did not bite him.
‘Ha,’ he said. ‘It’s you, is it?’
Lord Ickenham preserved his suavity.
‘Ah, Mugsy,’ he said. ‘I understand you’ve met Bimbo Plank. How did you think he was looking? He thought you had aged. Where’s Sally?’
‘Who?’
‘Bimbo told me she and my nephew Pongo were in here with you.’
Sir Aylmer started.
‘You know that girl?’
‘She is my honorary niece.’
A warm glow pervaded Sir Aylmer’s system, as if he had been taking Doctor Smythe’s Tonic Swamp Juice. This was even better than he had hoped.
‘Oh, is she?’ he said. ‘Then it may interest you to know that I’ve just given her thirty days without the option, and your nephew the same. Potter’s locked them up in the scullery while he has his eye bathed, and in a few minutes he’ll be taking them off in custody.’
‘A harsh sentence.’
‘The only possible sentence. One of the most disgraceful cases that has ever come before me. She pushed Potter into the duck pond.’
‘Well, what does a policeman expect, if he deliberately goes and stands on the edge of duck ponds? Girls will be girls.’
‘Not while I’m sitting on the bench, they won’t.’
‘And how about the quality of mercy? It isn’t strained, you know. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.’
‘Damn the quality of mercy.’
‘You’d better not let Shakespeare hear you saying that. Then you won’t reconsider?’
‘No, I won’t. And now we’ll discuss this matter of your coming here under a false name.’
Lord Ickenham nodded.
‘Yes, I was hoping you would be able to spare me a minute to tell you about that. But before I begin, I would like to have a witness present.’
Lord Ickenham went to the door and called ‘Bimbo’, and Major Plank came out of the drawing-room chewing strawberries.
‘Could you come here a moment, Bimbo. I need you as a witness. I’m going to tell you a story that will shock you.’
‘It isn’t the one about the young man of Calcutta, is it? Because I’ve heard that.’ Lord Ickenham reassured him.
‘When I said “shock”, I meant that the tale would revolt your moral sense rather than bring the blush of shame to the cheek of modesty. Shall I begin at the beginning?’
‘It sounds a good idea.’
‘Very well. There was an American girl named Vansittart who came to London and bought a number of trinkets in Bond Street, her plan being to take them back to America and wear them. All straight so far?’
‘Quite.’
‘What — ?‘ began Sir Aylmer, and Lord Ickenham gave him a stern look.
‘Mugsy,’ he said, ‘if you interrupt, I’ll put you over that chair and give you six of the juiciest. I’ve no doubt Bimbo will be glad to hold you down.’
‘Charmed. Quite like old times.’
‘Good. Then I will resume. Where were we?’
‘This American wench. Bought jewels in Bond Street.’
‘Exactly. Well, when she had got them, the thought flashed upon her that on arriving with them in New York, she would have to pay heavy customs duty to the United States Government. She recoiled from this.’
‘I don’t blame her.’
‘So in her innocent, girlish way she decided to smuggle them in.’
‘Quite right. Don’t pay the bounders a penny, that’s what I say. They’ve got much too much money as it is.’
‘Precisely what Miss Vansittart felt. She held that opinion very strongly. But how to work this smuggling project?’
‘That’s always the snag.’
‘She mused a while,’ said Lord Ickenham, interrupting Major Plank in what threatened to be rather a long story about how he had once tried to sneak some cigars through at Southampton, ‘and was rewarded with an idea. She had a friend, a young sculptress. She went to her, got her to make a clay bust and put the jewels in its head, and was then all set to take them to America in safety and comfort. She reasoned that when the customs authorities saw a clay bust, they would simply yawn and say “Ho hum, a clay bust,” and let it through.’
‘Very shrewd.’
&nbs
p; ‘So that was that. But … this is where you want to hold on to your chair, Bimbo … unfortunately this young sculptress was at that time modelling a bust of Mugsy.’
Major Plank was plainly bewildered. He stared at Sir Aylmer, studying his features closely and critically.
‘What did Mugsy want a bust of himself for?’
‘To present to the village club.’
‘Good God.’
‘During the sittings,’ proceeded Lord Ickenham, ‘Mugsy and the young sculptress naturally chatted from time to time, and in the course of these conversations she was rash enough to show him the bust that contained the jewels and to tell him that she was leaving it at my house a few miles from here until Miss Vansittart sailed. And Mugsy … I hardly like to tell you this, Bimbo.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, you will scarcely credit it, but yesterday Mugsy nipped over to my house, effected an entrance and snitched the bust.’
‘The one with the jewels in it?’
‘The one with the jewels in it.’
Not even the menace of six of the juiciest could keep Sir Aylmer silent under this charge.
‘It’s an insane lie!’
Lord Ickenham raised his eyebrows.
‘Is there anything to be gained by this bravado, Mugsy? Do you suppose I would bring such an accusation unless I could prove it to the hilt? Yes, Bimbo, he nipped over to my house, was admitted by my butler —‘
‘I wasn’t. He wouldn’t let me in.’
‘That is your story, is it? It is not the one Coggs tells. He says he admitted you and that you roamed unwatched all over the premises. And, what is more, as you were leaving he noticed a suspicious bulge under your coat. Honestly, Mugsy, I wouldn’t bother to persist in this pretence of innocence. It would be manlier if you came clean and threw yourself on the mercy of the court.’
‘Much manlier,’ agreed Major Plank. ‘Whiter altogether.’
‘I told you I could prove my accusation, and I will now proceed to do so. You have a nice, large foot, Bimbo. Oblige me by stepping to that cupboard over there and kicking in the door.’
‘Right ho!’ said Major Plank.
He approached the cupboard and drove at it with his brogue shoe. The niceness and largeness of his foot had not been overestimated. The fragile door splintered with a rending crash.