The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery

duly produced and drunk in an atmosphere of controlled hostility. After that everybody drifted off to bed one by one until only Anna and Toby were left.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “Warren and Percy? Oh, it is just that Warren is rather fond of Caroline and thinks Percy treated her rather badly, which, of course, he did. But Warren should have had more sense than to say so. But there’s always been bad feeling between those two. Caroline used to be Warren’s girlfriend,” he explained.

  “Was Percy ever serious about Caroline?”

  “I don't know. Must have been. They were engaged; well, unofficially engaged, if you know what I mean.” Toby gave a huge yawn. “I do like wine; if only it didn’t make my friends so obnoxious.”

  “What about Philip?” Anna pursued the point. "What was all that about having to have half a million pounds to be a gentleman?”

  “Oh, that! That was bloody tactless of old Percy. Still, he was drunk.”

  “Does that mean you won’t tell me what it was about?”

  “Well, it is meant to be a bit of a secret. You know, the errors of his youth and all that.”

  “I might guess at what Percy meant and come up with something worse than the actual crime.” Anna was determined to find out about Philip and the mysterious half a million pounds, and she knew quite well that Toby was hopeless at keeping secrets.

  “There was no crime. It’s just that Philip made a bit of an ass of himself once. It was all damned silly really; but Philip came out of it rather well in the end. Philip always walks out of things smelling of roses.”

  “You are talking in riddles.”

  “Am I? Well, there is no reason why I shouldn’t tell you; it’s just one of those things one would rather keep from one’s parents, if you know what I mean. In fact it was probably my fault, for being too damned generous with the wine. A bad habit, but an endearing one, I’m told. It was just after our finals and we had a bit of a celebration in my room. Everyone was ratted, of course; Philip was positively reeling. Anyway, there was this rather unpleasant fellow, Justin Cole, who must have gate-crashed because I’m damned if I ever asked him along to consume my alcohol and to obtrude his obnoxious presence amongst my friends. By the end of the evening he was twice as insulting as ever. His very existence was an insult, but he insisted on sharing his opinions with us as well. He objected to everything: titles, money, public school education – as if a chap has any choice about what he is born into. I think he saw himself as a bit of a working class hero, which was utter bosh. Anyway, if he found his principles were offended by our existence, he could have just cleared off and ignored us – which is more or less what Philip suggested at the time, although he was, as I recall, rather more explicit. Drink always made Philip obstreperous. Hence the obnoxious Justin accusing him of being drunk, which wasn’t a very enlightened observation in the circumstance. But Philip took offence and said that he could drink a – well, never mind the elegant phrase he used to describe Justin. But, believe me, Philip was always unerringly accurate in his insults. Anyway, the gist of it was that he could drink someone of Justin’s pedigree, and with Justin’s constitution and mental powers, under the table. It really was all exceptionally daft. We thought it uproariously funny at the time; Philip, with his eloquent insults was so clearly getting the better of Justin.”

  “The inevitable result, of course,” continued Toby, “was that a challenge was made, and we sat them either side of a table with a bottle of whisky apiece and told them to settle the dispute by a practical demonstration. Anyway, at some stage during this duel we started making bets on who would win. The trouble was that everyone wanted to back Philip. Justin took umbrage at this and stated that he was prepared to stake his first month’s earnings on the fact that he would still be drinking when Philip was flat on his back on the floor. Naturally Philip did not resist this challenge, but said that he would stake every penny he possessed on the outcome. Asked just how much this would amount to by the one Justin-supporter present, he informed him that he had inherited over half a million from his grandfather, and that money was his own to do with as he chose. And he chose to stake it on the fact that he could consume more whisky than Justin.”

  “You can guess the outcome. Our friend Philip lost. Both of them were as sick as dogs the next day. But the endearing Justin did not forget the bet. Of course there was nothing to make Philip pay up. But he had given his word in front of a number of witnesses. So he paid up; every penny of half a million pounds. He said that he would rather part with the money than give Justin the right to claim that he wasn’t a man of his word.”

  “Did he have the money?” asked Anna.

  “Oh, yes. But it really was every penny that he had. Of course there is loads of money in his family and he’ll inherit more in time, but he can hardly explain to his parents how he came to dispose of such a large sum in so short a time. Warren helped him out for a bit. Anyway, he does jolly well out of his job. He won’t starve. It is mainly a case of keeping it from his parents.”

  “Surely no one expected him to honour the bet? I know that an Englishman’s word is his bond and all that, but I can hardly see that this Justin character deserved to be handed the money on a silver plate. If he had any decency he wouldn’t have accepted it.”

  “That was the whole point. He never claimed to be a gentleman. However, for someone who professed to despise those who inherited money, he pocketed his ill-gotten gains without so much as a qualm of conscience. Maybe he thought he had earned it. Nobody thought very much of him for it, however. He didn’t even give the money to charity. Philip, however, was quite the hero. Nonetheless, it is not an episode he wants to advertise, which is why Percy was out-of-order.”

  “Who knows about it?”

  “Percy, Warren, Jane – she was at the party. Neither Caroline nor Julia knows. Julia just might be thoughtless enough to tell her mother.” Toby gave another yawn. “I say, I really better find my way to bed. My God! I’m still half donkey!” He struggled out of the costume. “Sweet dreams, Anna. And don't worry; Percy will repent of his thoughtlessness tomorrow. Drink just brings out the worst in people. I think Philip was wise to give it up. As for me, I shan’t touch another drop. At least, not until tomorrow evening. G’night.”

  Anna sat for a while recalling what Philip had said about poverty justifying robbery and wondered if parting from his half a million had ever placed him in real need. It seemed unlikely; but perhaps she knew only half the story. And was Warren still giving his cousin financial support? But why had he followed his father to Philip’s house? Was there some link? The questions came, but they were not followed by any answers. Anna stood up and slowly stripped off the black lace gloves that had formed part of her costume. She then made her way wearily to her bed and, giving up the unequal struggle of thought against sleep, surrendered to dreamless oblivion.

  As everyone took their leave the following evening, Percy, whom Anna had avoided throughout the day, took the opportunity of speaking a few private words to her.

  “I can see I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. Do I have your permission to phone you in the week?”

  “Of course.” It was the only reasonable reply she could make. She was not at all sure how she felt about Percy, but she had no reason to be unpleasant to him.

  “Are you staying here for long?” enquired Toby.

  “No, only until tomorrow.”

  “Will we see you on Friday?”

  “Friday? I don’t know. Why?”

  “Philip suggested we all went to his place. His father’s away so the children will play!”

  It was only by chance that Anna was facing Warren as Toby said this. She observed him give a start, turn pale, and glance meaningfully at Philip. Philip returned the look as if expecting some such reaction from Warren. The absence of Philip’s father clearly carried some significance for him.

  “Is he away for long?” she heard Warren enquire of Philip as the others were concentrating on th
eir farewells and hunting for their coats and scarves on the overburdened coat stand.

  “Thursday night until Sunday night.”

  “Oh,” was the response. “He’s away all day Friday.”

  “And when the cat’s away the mice will play,” said Philip grimly.

  Anna did not know what went on at the Gurney house on Fridays or why Warren should spy on his father going there, but she was determined to find out. It was the only positive lead she had.

  “Yes,” she said to Toby. “I’ll come along on Friday.”

  Eight

  “How beautiful are the feet of them,” Anna sang in a husky but not displeasing contralto, “that preach the gospel of peace. How beautiful are...” she paused to refill her glass. She was not thoroughly, unpleasantly, drunk – merely contentedly and musically inebriated. She took a sip of wine and started afresh. “All we like sheep have gone astray!” This did not seem to please her, and she returned to the beautiful feet. The singing degenerated into a hum and the whole exercise terminated in an exclamation:

  “Oh, botheration!”

  It was Friday. Maybe she should have been watching the Gurney’s house in Chelsea. But it did seem such a thundering waste of time. She had probably imagined the meaningful glance that passed between Warren and Philip. Matters had not been helped by the discreet