“I’m spare driver,” said Miss Runcible. “It’s on my arm.”
“She’s spare driver. Look, it’s on her arm.”
“Well, do you want to scratch?”
“Don’t you scratch, Agatha.”
“No, I don’t want to scratch.”
“All right. What’s your name?”
“Agatha. I’m the spare driver. It’s on my arm.”
“I can see it is—all right, start off as soon as you like.”
“Agatha,” repeated Miss Runcible firmly as she climbed into the car. “It’s on my arm.”
“I say, Agatha,” said Adam. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“It’s on my arm,” said Miss Runcible severely.
“I mean, are you quite certain it’s absolutely safe?”
‘Not absolutely safe, Adam. Not if they throw spanners. But I’ll go quite slowly at first until I’m used to it. Just you see. Coming too?”
“I’ll stay and wave the flag,” said Adam.
“That’s right. Good-bye… goodness, how too stiff-scaring…”
The car shot out into the middle of the road, missed a collision by a foot, swung round and disappeared with a roar up the road.
“I say, Archie, is it all right being tight in a car, if it’s on a race course? They won’t run her in or anything?”
“No, no, that’s all right. All tight on the race course.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.” “All of them?”
“Absolutely everyone—tight as houses.”
“That’s all right then. Let’s go and have a drink.”
So they went up the hill again, through the Boy Scouts, to the refreshment tent.
It was not long before Miss Runcible was in the news.
“Hullo, everybody,” said the loud speaker. “No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, came into collision at Headlong Corner with No. 28, the Italian Omega car, driven by Captain Marino. No. 13 righted itself and continued on the course. No. 28 overturned and has retired from the race.”
“Well done, Agatha,” said Archie.
A few minutes later:
“Hullo, everybody. No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, has just completed the course in nine minutes forty-one seconds. This constitutes a record for the course.”
Patriotic cheers broke out on all sides, and Miss Runcible’s health was widely drunk in the refreshment tent.
A few minutes later:
“Hullo, everybody; I have to contradict the announcement recently made that No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, had established a record for the course. The stewards have now reported that No. 13 left the road just after the level crossing and cut across country for five miles, rejoining the track at the Red Lion corner. The lap has therefore been disallowed by the judges.”
A few minutes later:
“Hullo, everybody; No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse car, driven by Miss Agatha, has retired from the race. It disappeared from the course some time ago, turning left instead of right at Church Corner, and was last seen proceeding south on the byroad, apparently out of control.”
“My dear, that’s lucky for me,” said Miles. “A really good story my second day on the paper. This ought to do me good with the Excess—very rich-making,” and he hurried off to the post office tent—which was one of the amenities of the course—to dispatch a long account of Miss Runcible’s disaster.
Adam accompanied him and sent a wire to Nina: Drunk Major in refreshment tent not bogus thirty-five thousand married tomorrow everything perfect Agatha lost love Adam.
“That seems quite clear,” he said.
They went to the hospital tent after this—another amenity of the course—to see how Miles’ friend was getting on. He seemed in some pain and showed anxiety about his car.
“I think it’s very heartless of him,” said Adam. “He ought to be worried about Agatha. It only shows…”
“Motor men are heartless,” said Miles, with a sigh.
Presently Captain Marino was borne in on a stretcher. He turned on his side with a deep groan and spat at Miles’ friend as he went past him. He also spat at the doctor who came to bandage him and bit one of the V.A.D.’s.
They said Captain Marino was no gentleman in the hospital tent.
There was no chance of leaving the course before the end of the race, Archie was told, and the race would not be over for at least two hours. Round and round went the stream of cars. At intervals the Boy Scouts posted a large red R against one or other of the numbers, as engine trouble or collision or Headlong Corner took its toll. A long queue stretched along the top of the hill from the door of the luncheon tent. Then it began to rain.
There was nothing for it but to go back to the bar.
At dusk the last car completed its course. The silver gilt trophy was presented to the winner. The loud speaker broadcast “God Save the King,” and a cheerful “Good-bye, everybody.” The tail of the queue outside the dining tent were respectfully informed that no more luncheons could be served. The barmaids in the refreshment tent said, “All glasses, ladies and gentlemen, please.” The motor ambulances began a final round of the track to pick up survivors. Then Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert went to look for their car.
Darkness fell during the drive back. It took an hour to reach the town. Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert did not talk much. The effects of their drinks had now entered on that secondary stage, vividly described in temperance handbooks, when the momentary illusion of well-being and exhilaration gives place to melancholy, indigestion and moral decay. Adam tried to concentrate his thoughts upon his sudden wealth, but they seemed unable to adhere to this high pinnacle, and as often as he impelled them up, slithered back helplessly to his present physical discomfort.
The sluggish procession in which they were moving led them eventually to the center of the town and the soberly illuminated front of the Imperial Hotel. A torrential flow of wet and hungry motor enthusiasts swept and eddied about the revolving doors.
“I shall die if I don’t eat something soon,” said Miles. “Let’s leave Agatha until we’ve had a meal.”
But the manager of the “Imperial” was unimpressed by numbers or necessity and manfully upheld the integrity of British hotel-keeping. Tea, he explained, was served daily in the Palm Court, with orchestra on Thursdays and Sundays, between the hours of four and six. A table d’hôte dinner was served in the dining room from seven-thirty until nine o’clock. An à la carte dinner was also served in the grill room at the same time. It was now twenty minutes past six. If the gentlemen cared to return in an hour and ten minutes he would do his best to accommodate them, but he could not promise to reserve a table. Things were busy that day. There had been motor races in the neighborhood, he explained.
The commissionaire was more helpful, and told them that there was a teashop restaurant called the Café Royal a little way down the High Street, next to the Cinema. He seemed, however, to have given the same advice to all comers, for the Café Royal was crowded and overflowing. Everyone was being thoroughly cross, but only the most sarcastic and overbearing were given tables, and only the gross and outrageous were given food. Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert then tried two more teashops, one kept by “ladies” and called “The Honest Injun,” a workmen’s dining room and a fried-fish shop. Eventually they bought a bag of mixed biscuits at a cooperative store, which they ate in the Palm Court of the “Imperial,” maintaining a moody silence.
It was now after seven, and Adam remembered his appointment in the American bar. There, too, inevitably, was a dense crowd. Some of the “Speed Kings” themselves had appeared, pink from their baths, wearing dinner jackets and stiff white shirts, each in his circle of admirers. Adam struggled to the bar.
“Have you seen a drunk Major in here anywhere?” he asked.
The barmaid sniffed. “I should think not, indeed,” she said. “And I shouldn’t serve him if he did come
in. I don’t have people of that description in my bar. The very idea.”
“Well, perhaps he’s not drunk now. But have you seen a stout, red-faced man, with a single eyeglass and a turned-up mustache?”
“Well, there was someone like that not so long ago. Are you a friend of his?”
“I want to see him badly.”
“Well, all I can say is I wish you’d try and look after him and don’t bring him in here again. Going on something awful he was. Broke two glasses and got very quarrelsome with the other gentlemen. He had three or four pound notes in his hand. Kept waving them about and saying, ‘D’you know what? I met a mutt today. I owe him thirty-five thousand pounds and he lent me a fiver.’ Well, that’s not the way to talk before strangers, is it? He went out ten minutes ago. I was glad to see the back of him, I can tell you.”
“Did he say that—about having met a mutt?”
“Didn’t stop saying it the whole time he was in here—most monotonous.”
But as Adam left the bar he saw the Major coming out of the gentlemen’s lavatory. He was walking very deliberately, and stared at Adam with a glazed and vacant eye.
“Hi!” cried Adam. “Hi!”
“Cheerio,” said the drunk Major distantly.
“I say,” said Adam. “What about my thirty-five thousand pounds?”
The drunk Major stopped and adjusted his monocle.
“Thirty-five thousand and five pounds,” he said. “What about them?”
“Well, where are they?”
“They’re safe enough. National and Provincial Union Bank of England, Limited. A perfectly sound and upright company. I’d trust them with more than that if I had it. I’d trust them with a million, old boy, honest I would. One of those fine old companies, you know. They don’t make companies like that now. I’d trust that bank with my wife and kiddies… You mustn’t think I’d put your money into anything that wasn’t straight, old boy. You ought to know me well enough for that…”
“No, of course not. It’s terribly kind of you to have looked after it—you said you’d give me a check this evening. Don’t you remember?”
The drunk Major looked at him craftily. “Ah,” he said. “That’s another matter. I told someone I’d give him a check. But how am I to know it was you?… I’ve got to be careful, you know. Suppose you were just a crook dressed up. I don’t say you are, mind, but supposing. Where’d I be then? You have to look at both sides of a case like this.”
“Oh, God… I’ve got two friends here who’ll swear to you I’m Adam Symes. Will that do?”
“Might be a gang. Besides I don’t know that the name of the chap who gave me the thousand was Adam what-d’you-call-it at all. Only your word for it. I’ll tell you what,” said the Major, sitting down in a deep armchair. “I’ll sleep on it. Just forty winks. I’ll let you know my decision when I wake up. Don’t think me suspicious, old boy, but I’ve got to be careful… other chap’s money, you know…” And he fell asleep.
Adam struggled through the crowd to the Palm Court, where he had left Miles and Archie. News of No. 13 had just come through. The car had been found piled up on the market cross of a large village about fifteen miles away (doing irreparable damage to a monument already scheduled for preservation by the Office of Works). But there was no sign of Miss Runcible.
“I suppose we ought to do something about it,” said Miles. “This is the most miserable day I ever spent. Did you get your fortune?”
“The Major was too drunk to recognize me. He’s just gone to sleep.”
“Well.”
“We must go to this beastly village and look for Agatha.”
“I can’t leave my Major. He’ll probably wake up soon and give the fortune to the first person he sees.”
“Let’s just go and shake him until he gives us the fortune now,” said Miles.
But this was impracticable, for when they reached the chair where Adam had left him, the drunk Major was gone.
The hall porter remembered him going out quite clearly. He had pressed a pound into his hand, saying, “Met-a-mutt-today,” and taken a taxi to the station.
“D’you know,” said Adam. “I don’t believe that I’m ever going to get that fortune.”
“Well, I don’t see that you’ve very much to complain of,” said Archie. “You’re no worse off than you were. I’ve lost a fiver and five bottles of champagne.”
“That’s true,” said Adam, a little consoled.
They got into the car and drove through the rain to the village where the Plunket-Bowse had been found. There it stood, still smoking and partially recognizable, surrounded by admiring villagers. A constable in a waterproof cape was doing his best to preserve it intact from the raids of souvenir hunters who were collecting the smaller fragments.
No one seemed to have witnessed the disaster. The younger members of the community were all at the races, while the elders were engaged in their afternoon naps. One thought he had heard a crash.
Inquiries at the railway station, however, disclosed that a young lady, much disheveled in appearance, and wearing some kind of band on her arm, had appeared in the booking office early that afternoon and asked where she was. On being told, she said, well, she wished she wasn’t, because someone had left an enormous stone spanner in the middle of the road. She admitted feeling rather odd. The stationmaster had asked her if she would like to come in and sit down and offered to get her some brandy. She said, “No, no more brandy,” and bought a first-class ticket to London. She had left on the 3:25 train.
“So that’s all right,” said Archie.
Then they left the village and presently found an hotel on the Great North Road, where they dined and spent the night. They reached London by luncheon-time next day, and learned that Miss Runcible had been found early that morning staring fixedly at a model engine in the central hall at Euston Station. In answer to some gentle questions, she replied that to the best of her knowledge she had no name, pointing to the brassard on her arm, as if in confirmation of this fact. She had come in a motor car, she explained, which would not stop. It was full of bugs which she had tried to kill with drops of face lotion. One of them threw a spanner. There had been a stone thing in the way. They shouldn’t put up symbols like that in the middle of the road, should they, or should they?
So they conveyed her to a nursing-home in Wimpole Street and kept her for some time in a darkened room.
Eleven
Adam rang up Nina.
“Darling, I’ve been so happy about your telegram. Is it really true?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“The Major is bogus?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t got any money?”
“No.”
“We aren’t going to be married today?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“Well?”
“I said, I see.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all, Adam.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Nina.”
Later Nina rang up Adam.
“Darling, is that you? I’ve got something rather awful to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be furious.”
“Well?”
“I’m engaged to be married.”
“Who to?”
“I hardly think I can tell you.”
“Who?”
“Adam, you won’t be beastly about it, will you?”
“Who is it?”
“Ginger.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I am. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re going to marry Ginger?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“Well?”
“I said, I see.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all, Nina.”
“When shall I see you?”
/>
“I don’t want ever to see you again.”
“I see.”
“Well?”
“I said, I see.”
“Well, good-bye.”
“Good-bye… I’m sorry, Adam.”
Twelve
Ten days later Adam bought some flowers at the corner of Wigmore Street and went to call on Miss Runcible at her nursing home. He was shown first into the Matron’s room. She had numerous photographs in silver frames and a very nasty fox terrier. She smoked a cigarette in a greedy way, making slight sucking noises.
“Just taking a moment off in my den,” she explained. “Down, Spot, down. But I can see you’re fond of dogs,” she added, as Adam gave Spot a halfhearted pat on the head. “So you want to see Miss Runcible? Well, I ought to warn you first that she must have no kind of excitement whatever. She’s had a severe shock. Are you a relation, may I ask?”
“No, only a friend.”
“A very special friend, perhaps, eh?” said the Matron archly. “Never mind, I’ll spare your blushes. Just you run up and see her. But not more than five minutes, mind, or you’ll have me on your tracks.”
There was a reek of ether on the stairs which reminded Adam of the times when, waiting to take her to luncheon, he had sat on Nina’s bed while she did her face. (She invariably made him turn his back until it was over, having a keen sense of modesty about this one part of her toilet, in curious contrast to some girls, who would die rather than be seen in their underclothes, and yet openly flaunt unpainted faces in front of anyone.)
It hurt Adam deeply to think much about Nina.
Outside Miss Runcible’s door hung a very interesting chart which showed the fluctuations of her temperature and pulse and many other curious details of her progress. He studied this with pleasure until a nurse, carrying a tray of highly polished surgical instruments, gave him such a look that he felt obliged to turn away.
Miss Runcible lay in a high, narrow bed in a darkened room.
A nurse was crocheting at her side when Adam entered. She rose, dropping a few odds and ends from her lap, and said, “There’s someone come to see you, dear. Now remember you aren’t to talk much.” She took the flowers from Adam’s hand, said, “Look, what lovelies. Aren’t you a lucky girl?” and left the room with them. She returned a moment later carrying them in a jug of water. “There, the thirsties,” she said. “Don’t they love to get back to the nice cool water?”