It was nearly twelve o'clock when Meldon left Sir Gilbert Hawkesby. He
walked rapidly down to Ballymoy House, and seized his bicycle. Miss
King, who had been watching for him, ran out and invited him to stay
for luncheon. Meldon excused himself briefly on the plea of really
urgent business.
"But can't you spare us even an hour?" said Miss King persuasively.
Meldon sprang into the saddle. It was his custom to mount from the
pedal, and on this occasion the pedal came off.
"Now," said Miss King, "your bicycle is broken and you must stay."
"It's Doyle's bicycle," he said. "I wouldn't own a machine like this.
My temper would wear thin in a week if I did."
He turned the bicycle upside down, and set to work vigorously with a
wrench.
"If," said Meldon, "my business were my own--that's to say, if I were
acting in my private capacity for my own interests--I should let the
whole thing slide at once." He screwed hard at a nut as he spoke.
"But what I have to do concerns the whole community here. It is also
of the greatest importance to you, Miss King."
"To me?"
"And my action has, I may add, the warmest approval of the judge.
There! Thank goodness, that wretched thing is stuck on again.
Good-bye for the present, Miss King."
"But-- Oh, do wait for a moment! You really must explain--"
Meldon mounted and rode away while she spoke. Just before he
disappeared from view, he turned his head and shouted back,--
"You'll know all about it this afternoon, Miss King."
He rode rapidly down to the village, and dismounted at the door of
Simpkins' office. It was shut. Meldon knocked loudly several times,
but received no answer. He mounted his bicycle again and rode off at
high speed to Simpkins' house. Here the door was opened to him by the
red-haired servant.
"I want to see Mr. Simpkins at once," said Meldon.
"It'll fail you to do that," said the girl, "for he isn't within."
"Tell me this, now," said Meldon. "Aren't you a cousin of Sabina
Gallagher's?"
"I am, of course."
"Very well. I'm a friend of Sabina's. I'm the chief, if not the only
friend Sabina has in Ballymoy, I daresay she's told you that herself."
"She has not then; for I didn't see her this last week only the once."
"Well, you must take my word for it that I am. Now, recollecting that
fact, I expect you to show a proper family feeling and to treat the
friends of your near relations as if they were your own. Is Mr.
Simpkins really out, or is he simply in bed and ashamed to confess it?"
"He is not in bed. Nor he wasn't in it since nine o'clock this
morning. It's away off he is ever since he had his breakfast; and if
you don't believe what I'm telling you, you can go upstairs and see for
yourself."
"I do believe you," said Meldon. "Where has he gone to?"
"How would I know? Barring that he took a packet of sandwiches with
him, I don't know where he is no more than yourself."
"Sandwiches! That looks as if he won't be back for luncheon."
"He will not then, for he told me so."
"Did he go on his bicycle?"
"It could be that he did, for it's not within in the house."
"Then we may assume that he did," said Meldon, "and it follows from
that that he intended to go some distance. Now tell me this, what
direction did he start in?"
"How would I know? As soon as ever I had the sandwiches made for him I
went to feed the fowl, and by reason of the way the white hen has of
rambling and her chickens along with her--"
"Thanks," said Meldon. "If it wasn't that I have to find Mr. Simpkins
at once, I'd stay and hear about the white hen. But under the
circumstances I can't. Good-bye."
He rode down to the hotel and found Doyle, who was sitting on the
window-sill of the commercial room reading a newspaper.
"Doyle," he said, "where's Simpkins gone?"
"I don't know," said Doyle, "that he's gone anywhere; though I'd be
glad if he did, and that to a good, far-off kind of a place."
"Did you see him this morning?"
"I did. I seen him. It might have been half-past ten or maybe eleven
o'clock--"
"On his bicycle?"
"He was on his bicycle."
"Where was he going?"
"I don't know where he was going, for I didn't ask, not caring; unless
it might be to some place that he wouldn't get back from too easy."
"It is of the utmost possible importance," said Meldon, "that I should
know where he's gone. I am pledged to produce him at Ballymoy House
this afternoon. Unless I do, our whole plan for getting rid of him is
likely to miscarry."
"I'm sorry to hear that," said Doyle. "But I couldn't tell you where
he went, not if it was to have him hanged when you caught him."
"I am not going to have him hanged," said Meldon. "I can't; for he
hasn't done anything, so far as I know, that any court would condemn
him for. What I want is to get him married."
"Married, is it?"
"Yes, to Miss King."
"But-- What you said at the first go-off, the day you was within
talking to me and the doctor, was that you'd--"
"I can't possibly enter into a long explanation now," said Meldon; "but
if you want to get rid of Simpkins permanently, you'll rack your brains
and help me to find out where he's gone to-day."
Doyle thought deeply for a couple of minutes.
"Where he's gone," he said at last, "is beyond me. But I took notice
of the trousers he had on him when he was starting. I'm not sure will
it be any use to you to know it, but they was white."
"Good," said Meldon. "As it happens, that fact does throw a great deal
of light on the problem. No man wears white trousers unless he's going
boating on a fine day, or going to play cricket, or going to play lawn
tennis. We may cross off the boating at once. Simpkins wouldn't go in
a boat voluntarily, even on the finest day. We may also exclude
cricket; because there's no cricket within fifty miles of Ballymoy in
any direction. There only remains tennis; so we may take it as certain
that it is lawn tennis which Simpkins has gone to play. You follow me
so far, I suppose, Doyle."
"It might be what they call golf."
"No, it couldn't. You don't understand these things, Doyle; but, as a
matter of fact, no one plays golf in white trousers. It wouldn't be
considered proper, and so we may be perfectly certain that Simpkins
wouldn't do it."
"I wouldn't say," said Doyle, "that you're much nearer knowing where
he's gone to."
"Not much, but I am a little. I happen to know--Sabina's red-haired
cousin told me--that he has taken a packet of sandwiches with him and
doesn't expect to be home till late. It follows from that that he's
not playing tennis in this immediate neighbourhood. It also follows
that he isn't going to any friend's house. Nobody ever brings
sandwiches to a private tennis party. Therefore Simpkins must have
gone to play at some sort of club."
"Unless it would be at Donard," said Doyle, "I don't know where there'd
be a thing of the kind."
"Right," said Meldon. "And, as a matter of fact, there is a club at
Donard. I know that, because I was once invited to play there in a
tournament. I think we may feel tolerably certain that Simpkins is
there. Let me see now. It's not quite one o'clock. If I ride
fast--I'll borrow the doctor's bicycle. I can't stand this loose pedal
of yours any more. If I ride fast I'll be there by half-past two. Say
twenty minutes to three. Allowing for twenty minutes in which to
persuade Simpkins to start home at once, I ought to be on my way back
by three. I'll hustle him along a bit, and there's no reason that I
can see why he shouldn't be at Ballymoy House by half-past five."
"You'll never do all that," said Doyle. "Is it likely he'll go with
you?"
"It's not exactly likely, but he will. I shall speak to him in such a
way that he practically must. Get me the doctor's bicycle at once."
"If it's that you want," said Doyle, "you haven't far to go to look for
it. It's within in the hall this minute, for he left it here last
night, saying he'd be round for it this morning."
"Good. I'll take it at once and be off."
The grounds of the Donard tennis club are pleasantly situated about a
mile outside the town on the Ballymoy road. Meldon reached them well
before the time he had arranged, passing through the gate at a quarter
past two o'clock. The annual tennis tournament was in full swing. All
three courts were occupied by players, and an eager crowd of spectators
stood round watching the progress of the matches. Simpkins was perched
on top of a step ladder, acting as umpire for two ladies. His position
rendered him very conspicuous, and Meldon caught sight of him at once.
He took a short cut through a court where a mixed double was in
progress and seized Simpkins by the leg.
"Simpkins," he said, "get off that ladder at once."
Simpkins was surprised. So were the two ladies who were playing
tennis. They stopped their game and stared at Meldon. Then they
glanced at Simpkins with puzzled suspicion. Men, as every one is
aware, even men with reputations for respectability, are sometimes
arrested suddenly in the most unlikely places for crimes of which no
one ever suspected them. It is true that they are very rarely arrested
by clergymen, but it is on record of the most famous of all detectives
that he once assumed the dress of a clergyman as a disguise. The lady
who was serving when Meldon interrupted the game had read the history
of that detective's life. She looked at Simpkins with awed horror.
Simpkins wriggled uncomfortably on his ladder. He was conscious of
being placed in a very unpleasant position, and was anxious, if
possible, to divert the attention of the ladies.
"Forty-fifteen," he said loudly, but erroneously, for the score was
thirty all. Then he turned to Meldon and added in a whisper: "Go away
at once, please."
He hoped that the ladies would go on with their game. They did not.
He had given their score wrongly, and they became more suspicious than
ever. Nor did Meldon stir.
"Come down off that ladder at once," said Meldon. "I don't want to
make a very unpleasant affair public property; but if you don't come
down, I'll speak out, and there's a small crowd gathering round us."
This was true. The lady who had been serving dropped the two balls she
held in her hand and sidled up towards the step ladder. A number of
people, who had been watching an exciting match in the next court, left
it, and approached Meldon to find out what was going on. Simpkins'
conscience was quite at ease. He had done nothing wrong. He was not,
as far as he was aware, mixed up in anything unpleasant. His
innocence, though it did not make him feel comfortable, gave him
courage to attempt an argument with Meldon.
"Why should I come down?" he said. "I'm umpiring in this match, and I
see no reason for leaving it in the middle."
"Very well," said Meldon. "If you choose to take up that sort of
attitude you'll only have yourself to thank for the unpleasantness
which will follow. Still, I've always had a regard for you, although
you're not what I'd call popular with the people of Ballymoy, so I
won't say more than I can help at first. Have you forgotten Miss King?"
"No," said Simpkins, "I haven't. Why should I? I mean to say, there's
nothing particular for me to remember about Miss King."
The secretary of the tennis club pushed his way through the crowd. He
was in an excited and irritated condition. Every single competitor had
complained that the handicapping was disgracefully done. Some were
angry because their skill was reckoned too cheaply; others thought that
their chances of winning were unduly prejudiced. They had all
expressed their opinions freely to the secretary. It was also becoming
more and more evident that the tournament could not possibly be
finished in the time allotted to it. The secretary had spent the
morning urging the players not to waste time. It particularly annoyed
him to see that Simpkins' two ladies had stopped playing.
"What's the matter?" he said. "Why the--I mean to say, why on earth
don't you go on with your game?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt the proceedings," said Meldon, "but it is
imperatively necessary for me to have a few words in private with
Simpkins."
The secretary turned on Simpkins at once. He was one of the people who
had grumbled most loudly and continuously about his handicap. He had
also wasted time by raising obscure points of law on two occasions.
The secretary had conceived a strong dislike for him.
"Why don't you go," he said, "and hear what this gentleman has to say?
I'll get another umpire."
"He hasn't anything to say to me," said Simpkins.
"He says he has," said the secretary, "and he ought to know."
"Quite right," said Meldon. "I'm the only person who does know.
Simpkins can't be really certain that I haven't until he comes and
listens."
"Go at once," said the secretary.
Simpkins looked round him for sympathy, but got none. Public opinion
was dead against him. The mention of Miss King, whom nobody knew,
suggested the possibility of some horrible and deeply interesting
scandal. Simpkins got down from his ladder. Meldon at once took him
by the arm and led him away.
"Where's your bicycle?" he said.
"What on earth do you want with me?" said Simpkins. "It's quite
intolerable--"
"Miss King is waiting for you," said Meldon. "She expects you this
afternoon, and if you start at once you'll just be there in time."
"But I've no engagement with Miss King."
"You have not," said Meldon, "at present. But you soon will have an
engagement of the most solemn and enduring kind."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Look here," said Meldon. "There's no use beating about the bush when
we haven't a moment to spare. You gave me to understand that you
wanted to marry Miss King."
"I didn't. All I said was--"
"That won't do," said Meldon. "You may think that you can play fast
and loose with a poor girl's affections in that sort of way, and so you
might if she was lonely and unprotected. But as it happens that judge
who came to Ballymoy the other day turned out to be Miss King's uncle,
and he's quite determined to see this business through. I was telling
him about it this morning. I pledged my word to have you on the spot
this afternoon, and to get the whole thing settled before dinner."
"But this is utterly ridiculous. I've only spoken to the woman three
times in my life."
"A good deal can be done in three interviews," said Meldon. "In this
case it appears that a good deal has been done. I don't profess to
know exactly what you said to Miss King--"
"I never said anything to her."
"Do you mean to assert that you went through three interviews without
uttering a single word."
"Of course not. What I mean to say is--"
"Now you're beginning to hedge," said Meldon, "and that's a bad sign,
an uncommonly bad sign. No man hedges in that sort of way unless he
has something to conceal. It's perfectly plain to me that you said a
good deal to Miss King. Anyhow, she evidently thinks you did. She
told the whole story to the judge last night, and he spoke to me about
it this morning."
"Told what story?"
"Your story. And the upshot of it was that I promised to bring you
there this afternoon. It's all arranged. Miss King is to be at home.
The judge will be up the river. I shall leave you with Miss King, and
then join the judge. We shall give you a clear hour, and when we come
back we shall expect to hear that the whole thing is settled."
"I never heard of such an absurd entanglement in my life."
"There is no entanglement about it. It's perfectly simple, plain, and
straightforward. Where's your bicycle?"
Simpkins wavered.
"Perhaps," he said, "I'd better go and explain. It's an infernal
nuisance--"
"I don't quite know what you mean by explaining," said Meldon. "There
seems to me only one thing for you to do, and that is to go at once and
offer to marry Miss King. Where's your bicycle?"
"It's behind the tent; but I must tell the secretary that I'm going.
I'm afraid he'll be angry."
"If that bald-headed man with the white moustache is the secretary,"
said Meldon, "I should say from the way he spoke just now that he'll be
extremely glad. If you tell him the whole story you'll find that he'll
quite agree with me about what your duty is."
"I shan't tell him, and I hope you won't."
"I certainly won't," said Meldon. "I have too high a sense of the
value of time to waste it telling stories to that secretary. Come
along and get your bicycle."
"It's just as well," said Meldon a few minutes later, when he and
Simpkins had mounted their bicycles--"it's just as well that you have
on those white trousers and a cool sort of shirt. We've got to ride
pretty fast, and it wouldn't do for you to arrive in a state of reeking
heat."
"I want you to understand clearly," said Simpkins, "that I'm not going
to do anything more than explain to Miss King that some absurd mistake
has arisen; explain, and apologise."
"If you like to call it explaining, you can. But I strongly recommend
you to do it thoroughly. I may tell you that I have Callaghan posted
behind a tree to watch you, and if you don't offer Miss King proper
tokens of affection, I shall hear of it, and so will the judge. It's
scarcely necessary for me to tell you, Simpkins, that the judge isn't a
man to be trifled with."
"Tokens of affection! Do you mean that I--?"
"I do," said Meldon. "I mean that exactly. And you're to do it as if
you liked it. You very probably will like it, once you've broken the
ice."
For a few minutes they rode on in silence. Then Simpkins spoke again,--
"Do you mean that I should--that I should hold her hand and kiss her?"
"After you've proposed to her," said Meldon, "not before. It would be
what Callaghan calls impropriety of conduct if you did it before, and
he'd probably interrupt you. He doesn't like that sort of thing. I
shouldn't like it myself either, and I don't think the judge would,
although he's evidently a liberal-minded man."
"I couldn't possibly do that," said Simpkins. "I've only spoken to her
three times."
"You'll have to," said Meldon, "after she's accepted you. It's the
usual thing. Miss King will be angry, quite rightly angry and
insulted, if you don't. You read any novel you like, and you'll find
that as soon as ever the hero has proposed to the heroine, often
without waiting for her answer, he rains passionate kisses on some part
of her, generally her hair. I don't ask you to go as far as that; but
one or two kisses--you can begin with her hand if you like, and work on
gradually."
"Of course I shall do nothing of the sort," said Simpkins. "I shall
simply explain to Miss King that owing to some sort of muddle--"
"If I were you, Simpkins, I shouldn't talk too much. From the gaspy
sort of way you're speaking now, I imagine you're not in particularly
good training, and you have a long ride before you. It will be most
unfortunate if, when I've planted you down in front of Miss King, you
are unable to do anything except pant. No girl would stand that. By
far the best plan for you is to breathe entirely through your nose, and
sit well back in your saddle, so that your chest and lungs are kept
properly expanded."
Simpkins spoke no more for some time. He may have considered the
advice good. He may have felt an increasing difficulty in talking when
riding very rapidly. When they reached Ballymoy there were signs of
unusual excitement in the street. Doyle and O'Donoghue were standing
on the steps of the hotel. A small crowd had gathered on the road in
front of them. Most of the shopkeepers were at the doors of their
shops. A considerable number of women were looking out of the upper
windows of the houses. A cheer arose as the two bicyclists passed
through the town. Meldon took off his hat and waved it.
"Musha, good luck to you," shouted a woman's voice.
"That," said Meldon, "is almost certainly Sabina Gallagher. She's
naturally greatly interested on account of her cousin."
"Interested in what?" gasped Simpkins.
"Your marriage," said Meldon. "I mentioned it to Doyle this morning,
and he has evidently told every one about the place."
Simpkins stopped abruptly and got off his bicycle.
"I'm damned," he said, "if I'm going to stand this."
Meldon also dismounted.
"Get up at once, Simpkins," he said. "We are late enough as it is."
"I'm going straight home," said Simpkins.
"From the look of Doyle and O'Donoghue and the crowd there was in the
street," said Meldon, "I should say that they'll probably mob you if
you go back now. You're not over and above popular in the place as
things stand; and, if the people think that you're behaving badly to
Miss King, they'll very likely kill you. From what I've heard since
I've been here I don't expect the police will interfere to save you."
"I'm not going to be made a public laughing stock."
"You'll be that and worse if you turn back. There isn't a woman or a
girl about the place but will be making jokes about you if you funk it
now. Come on."
Simpkins looked back at the street he had just left. The people were
standing together gazing after him curiously. He mounted his bicycle
and rode on, followed by Meldon.
"I shall explain to Miss King," he said, "that the unpleasant situation
in which we find ourselves placed is in no way my fault."
"You can try that if you like," said Meldon. "But I don't expect
she'll be at all satisfied."