“Who the devil is he shielding?” said Quaritch.
“I wish to God I knew,” said Forsyth bitterly.
* * * * *
Sir Hilton Shutter was thoroughly pleased with life. For one thing, he
was standing with his back to a roaring fire: for another, he was a
guest at Castle Charing, a pleasant residence to which he had long hoped
to be invited: for another, his future wife, seated on a sofa before
him, was looking particularly lovely in a frock of powder-blue and gold:
finally, from the solemn, almost subdued demeanour of his host and
hostess, he perceived that his discourse was creating a profound
impression.
A booming note slid into his voice.
“Leadership. To-day, more than ever before, people require a lead. Point
them the way, and they’ll move. But you must point it definitely. Your
indication must be downright, courageous.” He paused to flick his cigar
ash into the grate. “I wrote to _The Times_ to-day,” he continued,
frowning.
“Did you?” said his hostess pleasantly. “What about?”
“This question of drunken motorists,” was the reply.
Mrs. Fairie started, and her husband’s hand flew to his moustache.
“It’s more than a public scandal,” continued Shutter. “It’s a national
disgrace. I don’t mean——”
“I know,” said Fairie nervously. “There’s been a lot of agitation about
it, but——”
“I agree. But the evil remains.”
“Oh, they’ll stamp it out,” said Fairie. “Trust them. People are
beginning to see it’s not good enough. By the way——”
“By ‘national disgrace,’” said Shutter, “I mean that the failure of the
authorities to observe the will of those who appoint and pay them to do
their will is a state of affairs which would not be tolerated in any
other country in the world.”
“I agree,” said his host heartily. “It’s wicked.”
“Monstrous,” said Mrs. Fairie. “What about some Bridge?”
“One minute,” said Lady Elizabeth. “What’s monstrous?”
“This drunkenness stunt,” said Fairie. “Let’s——”
“No, no, no,” cried Shutter. “I thought you didn’t quite follow me. My
point is that, outrageous as is the offence, the failure of those whose
signal duty it is to eradicate it is still more infamous.”
“That’s the word I was trying to think of,” said Fairie. “‘Infamous.’ So
it is. What about roping in the others an’ havin’ a quiet game of——”
“As I said in my letter to-day,” said Sir Hilton, frowning, “the
community no longer asks for protection—it demands the abolition of
these pests: and that, by the infliction in every case, without fear or
favour, of a penalty—imprisonment, of course—so harsh as, once for
all, to frighten would-be offenders back into the path of decency.”
“You are fierce,” said Elizabeth. “Why——”
“Yes, isn’t he?” cried Mrs. Fairie. “Never mind. Let’s——”
“Isn’t it time someone was?” demanded Sir Hilton. “Look at the
latest——”
“_Ouch!_” squealed Fairie, leaping to his feet.
“Whatever’s the matter?” cried Elizabeth, considerably startled.
“Must’ve sat on a pin or something,” said Fairie desperately. “What
about that poker? It’s much——”
“As I was saying,” boomed Shutter, “look at the latest case. There’s a
man with all the advantages which birth and education can offer——”
“Excuse me, Sir Hilton,” blurted Fairie, “but—I know you’ll forgive my
saying so, but the fellow in question’s rather a friend of mine,
and——”
“Pembury is?”
“WHO?”
Elizabeth was on her feet, flushed, blazing-eyed.
“_Who?_” she repeated.
Fairie sank into his seat with a groan.
“Pembury, Elizabeth,” said Shutter. “Young Pembury. Haven’t you seen the
papers?”
“No,” said Elizabeth, “I haven’t. What do the papers say . . . about
. . . Lord Pembury?”
The broad shoulders were shrugged.
“Oh, he’s the latest instance of the drunken driver. That’s all. I’m not
particularly surprised, but——”
“Hang it, man,” cried Fairie, “you’ve no right to——”
“Why aren’t you surprised?” said Lady Elizabeth.
Her fiancé stared. Then he gave a short laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know. But don’t let’s pursue it. Didn’t you hear Fairie say
that he’s——”
“Does it occur to you that Lord Pembury’s a friend of mine?”
“I know he was,” said Sir Hilton.
“Is,” said Elizabeth. “Is. And always will be. Never mind. Who says he
was drunk?”
“The police, dear,” said Mrs. Fairie, putting an arm about her waist.
“He ran into something—a taxi, on Sunday night—— _What is it,
darling?_”
Elizabeth was trembling violently.
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. Let me sit down. ‘On Sunday night,’ you
were saying. Yes?”
“On Sunday night, in Park Lane. He wasn’t hurt. And the police—you know
what they are—immediately jumped to the conclusion——”
“Be just, Mrs. Fairie,” said Shutter. “It wasn’t a question of jumping
to any conclusion. Finding him drunk, they——”
“If you’ll forgive my saying so,” said Fairie, setting a brandy and soda
in Elizabeth’s hand, “whether they found him drunk or sober has yet to
be decided. At present he’s merely charged with being drunk.”
“Of course,” said Shutter, “if you like to split hairs——”
“It isn’t a question of hair-splitting,” said his host. “It’s a question
of cold facts. If the charge is dismissed—as it will be—he could sue
you for slander for this, and just waltz home.”
Elizabeth was speaking.
“Will somebody please tell me exactly what’s happened?”
“I will,” said her host. “Dick had a smash late on Sunday night. Nobody
was hurt. He was arrested and charged. They say he smelt of liquor and a
bottle was found in the car. He appeared on Monday morning and pleaded
‘Not guilty.’ Evidence of arrest was given and the case was adjourned
for a week.”
“What’s to-day?” said Elizabeth.
“Friday.”
“Thank you. Go on.”
“That’s all, dear,” said Mrs. Fairie. “We didn’t tell you, because——”
“You did, though, didn’t you?” said Elizabeth, looking Sir Hilton in the
face.
“I naturally assumed——”
“Quite a hobby of yours, isn’t it? Recreations—golf, yachting,
assumption. You assumed that he was drunk. You assumed that I knew about
it. I suppose you assumed that, in view of my knowledge, I should relish
your recent conversation, including the fact that you had written to
_The Times_, urging ‘the infliction of penalties—imprisonment, of
course—so harsh . . .’” She stopped dead there. Then her voice rang
out. “_Why did you write that letter?_”
Sir Hilton started.
“‘Why?’”
“Yes. Why?”
“Well—er—because, I suppose, I felt——”
“Was it in the hope that it would appear on the day Dick’s case came
on?”
“Good Heavens, Elizabeth! What——”
“Cut it out,” said the girl, quietly. “I know. And so do Madge and
Harry. We all three know. And so do you. And I’ll tell you another thing
we know—we three. We know Dick wasn’t drunk.”
“Right!” cried the Fairies in a breath.
“And so do you,” said Elizabeth, rising.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Shutter. “If I like to——”
The girl stretched out her hand.
“Just hold my drink for a minute, will you?” she said.
Mechanically, Sir Hilton received the glass.
Elizabeth took off her pearls and slid an enormous emerald off her
finger. She pitched the gems together at Shutter’s feet. Then she looked
into his eyes.
“How I came to make such a mistake, I can’t conceive. I think I must
have been mad. To be perfectly honest, I liked the idea of being rich.
As far as you’re concerned, I’m not so terribly to blame, because, when
you asked me to marry you, you dangled your rotten wealth before my
eyes. You prayed it in aid of your suit. And I thought it was good
enough, I did. . . . Well, I find I was wrong.”
“But, Elizabeth——”
“My good sir, _I wouldn’t be seen dead with you._” She stretched out her
hand. “Thank you.”
She took the glass from his fingers and flung the liquor in his face.
Sir Hilton recoiled and Madge Fairie started to her feet. Lady Elizabeth
and Fairie stood perfectly still.
Floating from behind closed doors, the lilt of the latest fox-trot
disputed possession of the silence with the pleasant flare and crackle
of the logs in the grate.
* * * * *
“What’s Mr. Forsyth want?”
“I don’t know at all, my lord. He simply told me to find you, wherever
you were, and bring you back in a cab to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”
Pembury, who was at his tailor’s, adjusted his tie.
“All right,” he said slowly. “If you’ll get a cab, I’ll be ready in two
minutes’ time.”
The clerk bowed and withdrew.
Pembury wondered, frowning, what was afoot.
Had Forsyth got hold of something? Had he been making inquiries and come
on the truth? Had the Richelieu been talking? Had . . . Forsyth had
found out something. Not a doubt of it. Something about Sunday night.
And Forsyth was going to try to force his hand. He was going to threaten
to put Elizabeth wise. . . .
Pembury smiled a grim smile.