'Of course.'
'Yes, I think we may safely say a hundred thousand pounds. And then – this is where it begins to mount up – there comes the one after that. Try to imagine what that will make!'
'A fortune!'
'Positively.'
Sir Buckstone's head was swimming, but a possible flaw in his companion's reasoning occurred to him. Far-fetched, perhaps, but worth pointing out.
'Suppose your next ones aren't successful?'
Joe raised his eyebrows with a short, amused laugh.
'Of course, of course,' said Sir Buckstone, feeling foolish. 'Of course. Don't know why I said it.'
He was conscious of a slight giddiness. A sudden roseate thought had crossed his mind. Here was this chap – well-knit, clean-cut, quite passably good-looking – with more money than he knew what to do with—Might it not possibly happen that Jane—
'Bless my soul!' he said.
His affection for this sterling young fellow was growing momently.
'Well, I congratulate you. It is a splendid position for you to have reached at your age – er – your brother did not tell me your name?'
'Joe.'
'Joe, eh? Well, my dear Joe, you are certainly entitled to be proud of yourself.'
'Very kind of you to say so, Sir Buckstone.'
'Call me Buck. Why, you're a millionaire!'
'More or less, Buck, I suppose.'
'Bless my soul!' said Sir Buckstone.
He fell into a thoughtful silence. They moved along the terrace and became aware of an elegant figure, standing there in maiden meditation. Sir Buckstone nudged Joe gently.
'Oh, Miss Whittaker,' he called.
'Yes, Sir Buckstone?'
'I believe you know Mr Vanringham? Mr Joe Vanringham. Brother of the other one. He is coming to join us here?'
'Oh, yay-ess?'
'Yes. And I thought – he thought – we both thought he might have a word with you. . . . Good-bye, then, for the present, Joe.'
'See you later, Buck.'
The Baronet disappeared, glad to be removed from contact with the sordid, and Joe turned to Miss Whittaker, to whom it was his intention to talk like a Dutch uncle. His heart ached with an elder brother's pity for Tubby, severed from this girl by what he was sure was only a temporary misunderstanding; and all that was needed, he felt, to clear up this annoying little spot of trouble was a word or two in season from a level-headed man of the world.
These plans, however, which level-headed men of the world form in careless ignorance of what they are up against often fail to reach fruition. There is a type of girl, born in Kensington and trained in business colleges, to whom it is not easy to talk like a Dutch uncle. To this class Prudence Whittaker belonged.
'For about how long,' she asked, 'would it be your intention to remain at the Hall, Mr Vanringham?'
'Miss Whittaker,' said Joe, 'can you look me in the eye?'
She could, and proved it by doing so.
'Miss Whittaker,' said Joe, 'you have treated my brother shamefully Shamefully! My brother, Miss Whittaker.'
'I would prefer to confine our conversation entirely to business, Mr Vanringham.'
'He loves you passionately, madly, Miss Whittaker.'
'I would prefer—'
'And all you have to do in order to place matters once more on their former hotsy-totsy footing is to come clean about that brown-paper package.'
'I would prefer—'
'If it was, as he supposes, jewellery from a city slicker, then there is no more to be said. But if—'
'I would prefer, Mr Vanringham, not to discuss the matter.'
There had come over her classically modelled face an almost visible glaze of ice, and so intimidating was this that Joe decided to humour her wishes. Already his lower slopes were beginning to freeze.
'All right,' he said resignedly. 'Well, what's the tariff?'
'Thirty pounds a week.'
'Including use of bath?'
'There is a bathroom attached to the room which you would occupy.'
'What, in an English country house?'
'Walsingford Hall was thoroughly modernized by Sir Buckstone's predecessah. I can assure you that you would be quite comfortable.'
'But are bathrooms everything?'
'Sir Buckstone has an excellent chef 'Is food everything, Miss Whittaker?'
'If you are thinking of your fellow guests—'
'Frankly, I am. I saw a film the other day, the action of which took place on Devil's Island, and the society there struck me as being very mixed. Nothing of that sort here, I trust?'
'Sir Buckstone's guests are all socially impeccable.'
'Are what?'
'Socially impeccable.'
'I'll bet you can't say that ten times, quick.'
Prudence Whittaker maintained a proud silence.
'And now,' said Joe, 'the most important thing of all. What about the treatment of the inmates? I will be quite frank with you, Miss Whittaker. I have just come from the village, and there are ugly stories going about down there. People are talking. They say that as the ploughman homeward plods his weary way of an evening, he sometimes hears screams coming from Walsingford Hall.'
A shapely foot began to tap the terraced turf.
'Of course,' said Joe, 'I quite realize that in an institution like this you must have discipline. Please don't think me a foolish sentimentalist. If the order has gone out that the gang is to play croquet, and Number 6408, let us say, wants to play hopscotch, naturally, you have to be firm. I understand that. It is as if somebody on a Continental tour tried to sneak off to Beautiful Naples when Mr Cook had said they were to go to Lovely Lucerne. But discipline is one thing, harshness another. There is a difference between firmness and brutality.'
'Mr Vanringham—'
'I am told that when one of the paying guests tried to escape last week he was chased across the ice with bloodhounds. Was that right, Miss Whittaker? Was that humane? There are limits, surely?'
'Mr Vanringham, do you desi-ah a room, or do you not? I am a little busy this morning.'
'You aren't in the least busy this morning. When I came up, all you were doing was just standing there with blinding tears of wild regret in your eyes, thinking of Tubby.'
'Mr Vanringham!'
'Miss Whittaker?'
'Do you or do you not—'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Very good. I will go and see to it.'
She walked away, a dignified, disdainful figure. And Joe, though there were a number of things he would have liked to ask her – whether, for example, the American honour system was in operation at Walsingford Hall and what she thought of his chances of becoming a trusty – did not seek to detain her.
He had other work to do. That thrumming hunting crop of Sir Buckstone's had given him the inspiration which he had been seeking ever since Tubby had failed him, and it was his desire at the earliest possible moment to establish connection with Adrian Peake.
He crossed the terrace and started off down the steep dusty road that led to the Goose and Gander.
Adrian Peake had finished his breakfast and was smoking a cigarette on the rustic bench outside the inn's parlour. He was gazing up at Walsingford Hall.
Much had happened to disturb Adrian Peake this morning. He had not liked meeting Joe. The ham had been as bad as yesterday's, and the coffee worse. And he had started the day badly by having a broken night, due partly to the eerie lapping of the water against the side of the boat, partly to the scratching noise which had brought back to his mind Jane's unfortunate remark about the water rats' club, and partly to the unknown bird, which, rising at five sharp, had begun going 'Kwah, kwah' like a rusty hinge.
Nevertheless, the eye which he was directing at Walsingford Hall was a happy, contented eye. The house seemed to him to breathe opulence from every brick; and to one who from boyhood up had been consistently on the make, the thought that he had won the heart of its heiress was very pleasant on this lovely morning. Architec
turally, Walsingford Hall offended his cultured taste, but it had the same charm for him which a millionaire uncle from Australia exerts in spite of wearing a loud check suit and a fancy waistcoat. Wealth is entitled to its eccentricities of exterior, and, in return for what lies beneath, we are prepared to condone the outer crust.
With a happy little sigh, he threw away his cigarette, and was lighting another when Joe arrived. Having no desire for further conversation, he rose and started to move to the gate.
There was a tenseness in Joe's manner.
'Where are you going?'
'Back to the boat.'
'Don't!' said Joe.
He thrust Adrian gently back on to the rustic bench, then sat down himself and placed a kindly hand on the other's shoulder. Adrian removed the shoulder and hitched himself farther along the bench.
'What do you mean?'
'I wouldn't if I were you.'
'Why not?'
'Somebody is there whom I don't think you will want to meet.'
'Eh?'
'At least, he's on his way there. My brother Tubby hurried down ahead of him to warn you.'
'Warn me?'
'Rather considerate of him, I thought.'
'What are you talking about?'
'I'm telling you. Just after you left me, my brother Tubby, who, it appears, is staying at the Hall, arrived, very hot and breathless. "Where's Peake?" he asked. "Gone to the inn," I said. "Tell him to stay there," said Tubby. "Sir Buckstone Abbott is after him with a hunting crop. He says he intends to rip the stuffing out of him."'
'What!'
'That's what I said. But Tubby explained. He tells me you have become engaged to Sir Buckstone's daughter. Is it true?'
'Yes.'
'Secretly?'
'Yes.'
'And your means are somewhat straitened?'
'Yes.'
'Then that's the trouble. That's what he resents. I don't know how well you know Sir Buckstone. I mean, have you ever studied his psychology?'
'I've never met him.'
'I know him intimately. A delightful man if you don't rub him the wrong way, but, if you do, subject to fits of ungovernable fury. You can't blame him, of course. It's that sunstroke he had when he was big-game hunting in Africa. He's never really been the same since. Sometimes I think he's not altogether sane.'
Adrian Peake's face had taken on a pallor which would have brought any member of his circle of female acquaintances, could she have seen it, rallying round solicitously with eau-de-Cologne and champagne. He was wondering what madness had led him to urge Jane to tell her father about their engagement, and wishing that girls did not take a fellow so literally.
'His attitude in the present case certainly suggests it,' said Joe. Tubby tells me the man seemed absolutely berserk. All he would talk about was this idea he'd got of taking you apart. Tubby tried to reason with him. "Oh, I wouldn't," Tubby said. "I will," replied Sir Buckstone testily. "I want to see what's inside him." And then a lot of stuff about your liver. He's like that when he gets into these lunatic furies of his. Nothing can stop him working them off. In this case, for instance, any ordinary man would have paused and said to himself: "I simply mustn't disembowel this fellow. He will bring an action against me for assault and battery and win it hands down. I will curb myself. I will exercise self-control." But not Sir Buckstone. He doesn't think of the jam it may get him into. All he cares about is the passing gratification of beating you to a jelly. Just so long as he can feel that you will spend the next few months in hospital—'
Adrian Peake rose abruptly.
'I'm going to get out of here!'
'I would. Right away. It was what I was about to suggest. I'll take the boat off your hands. How much did you pay for it?'
'Twenty pounds.'
'I'll mail you a cheque. And now I'd be off, if I were you. Don't stop to pack. I'll send your things on. What's the address?'
'It's in the telephone book. I wonder when there's a train.'
'I wouldn't wait for trains. Hire a car.'
Adrian's thrifty soul writhed a little at the thought, but he saw that the advice was good.
'I will.' He paused. He did not like Joe, but he supposed that he ought to display at least a formal gratitude for what he had done. Thank you, Vanringham.'
'Not at all. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye.'
Joe leaned back on the rustic bench, gazing contentedly up at the sky through the branches of the tree that shaded it. A voice spoke behind him, and he turned.
Framed in the open window of the parlour was a small, round, rosy man in a loose sack suit. He was also wearing, though Joe could not see these, square-toed shoes of a vivid yellow. On his head was a hat of the kind designed primarily for the younger type of Western American college student. He was chewing gum.
'Nice day,' he said.
'Very,' said Joe.
'Say, did I hear that young fellow call you Vanringham?'
'Yes.'
'T. P.?'
'J.J.'
'Oh,' said the little man. One would have supposed that he was disappointed. 'Well, pleased to have met you.'
'Quate,' said Joe.
CHAPTER 10
JANE had been having her usual busy morning. Owing to the fact that her father, shirking his responsibilities in a way that ought to have brought the blush of shame mantling to his cheek, deliberately avoided their society, and that her mother had, up to the present, given no sign that she was aware of their existence, the task of entertaining the paying guests devolved almost entirely upon her.
Sometimes a keen-eyed croquet player would espy and intercept Sir Buckstone before he could dive into the nearest shrubbery, but as a rule it was left for Jane to play the jolly innkeeper. Her mornings, in consequence, were always full.
Today she had played clock golf with Mr Chinnery, listened to Colonel Tanner on life in Poona and heard what Mr Waugh-Bonner had to say about mice in bedrooms. She had admired Mrs Shepley's knitting, discussed the news in the paper with Mrs Folsom, advised Mr Profitt on his backhand drive, and would no doubt have got together with and encouraged Mr Billing in his activities, had he not been, as on the previous day, taking a sun bath. She was now in the dining-room doing the flowers.
For some moments, tense and concentrated, a small white tooth pressed against her lower lip and her small nose twitching, she stood arranging pansies in a shallow bowl. There was not the slightest chance that a horde of gorging paying guests, absorbed in food, would notice her handiwork one way or the other, but this did not prevent her striving for perfection. She was an artist, and liked to get things right. Satisfied at length, she stepped back; and, as she did so, a voice behind her said, 'Hello'.
The dining-room at Walsingford Hall opened on to the terrace. It had French windows, flung wide on this beautiful morning, and through these there had come a figure which, only vaguely familiar at first glance, she recognized immediately as she came forward. It was the little man in the sack suit who had intruded upon her farewells to Adrian down in the water meadows.
'Hullo!' she said, taken aback. The apparition had startled her.
He advanced into the room. His eyes were kindly and his jaws rose and fell in a rhythmic motion.
'Saw you in here, so I came in.'
'Oh?'
'Bulpitt's my name. Sam Bulpitt.'
In the county of Berkshire there were girls, many of them, who long ere this would have raised haughty eyebrows and pointed the way to the back door. But Jane was far too friendly a little soul to come the Baronet's daughter over anyone, even a man wearing shoes as gamboge as those. She supposed that he represented some commercial firm – one, possibly, that dealt in cheap jewellery or imitation silk stockings – and had arrived in pursuance of his professional duties to try to drum up trade, but she smiled at him amiably.
'How do you do, Mr Bulpitt?'
'I'm fine. How are you?'
'I'm fine.'
'Nice place you've got here.'
>
'You like it?'
'I think it's swell.'
'Good. Er – is there anything I can do for you, Mr Bulpitt?'
'I guess not. Just go right along looking like a lovely radiant woodland nymph surrounded by her flowers.'
'Very well,' said Jane. She crossed to the sideboard and began to busy herself with the big vase that stood on it. 'And presently, no doubt, you will tell me what the idea is.'
'Pardon?'
'I was just wondering why you were here.'
For the first time, it seemed to strike the little man that he had been remiss. He chuckled amusedly, showing those gleaming teeth of his like one who realizes that the joke is on him.
'Why, sure. Ought to have told you that at the start, shouldn't I? You must be thinking I'm loco. I've come to see Alice. You'll be her little girl, of course.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'I'll bet a dollar on it. You're the living spit of what she was twenty-five years ago. Smaller, of course. You're perteet, and she was always kind of buxom. But I'd known you anywheres.'
A possible solution occurred to Jane.
'When you say Alice, do you mean my mother?'
'Sure.'
'I never knew her name was Alice. Buck always calls her Toots. Do you know her, then?'
'Sure. Matter of fact, she's my sister.'
The vase rocked in Jane's hands.
'You're not my mysterious uncle?'
'That's right.'
Jane laughed happily. She was always fond of watching her father's reaction to the unforeseen. She anticipated great pleasure from the spectacle of his first meeting with the new relative.
'Well, well, well!'
'Sure,' said Mr Bulpitt, who had been intending to say that himself.
Here he made an unexpected exit on to the terrace, busied himself delicately there for a moment and returned. His jaws were no longer moving, but it was plain that this was only a temporary phase, for he took a package of gum from his pocket and began stripping a piece of it. He inserted it in his mouth, once more setting the machinery in motion.
'You can buy gum anywheres in England now, they tell me,' he said, in passing.
'Can you?'
'Yessir. March of Civilization. Surprised me when I found it out.'
'Have you just arrived in England?'