Mr. Dashwood, piloting his undesirable companion, led the way to the
station, where they arrived ten minutes before the train was due.
He had seven pounds, the remains of the twelve pounds he had won at the
Bridge Club, and he thanked fervently the powers above that he had the
money about his person. To have left Mr. Giveen while he rushed back to
The Martens for the sinews of war would have been a highly dangerous
proceeding. He felt intuitively that Giveen was one of those people who,
incapable of trust, have no trust in others, and that once this
gentleman's suspicions were aroused, the affair would be hopeless.
Above Bobby's intense desire to save French and thwart his enemy was the
desire to shine in the eyes of Violet Grimshaw, to execute some stroke
of finesse, to trump the ace that Fate had suddenly laid down on the
card-table on which French was playing the greatest game of his life.
And he had not a trump-card, to his knowledge.
The train came steaming in, disgorged a few passengers, received some
baskets of country produce, and steamed out again, with Mr. Dashwood and
his antagonist seated opposite to one another in a third-class smoking
carriage.
Dashwood was by no means an "intellectual," yet before they reached
Victoria the unintellectuality of Mr. Giveen had reduced him from a
condition of mild wonder to pure amazement. An animal of the meanest
description would have been a far preferable companion to this gentleman
from over the water, childish without the charm of childhood, ignorant,
and little-minded.
As Mr. Dashwood stepped out of the carriage at Victoria he saw, amid the
crowd on the platform, a figure and a face that he knew.
A tall girl with red hair and a good-looking but rather masculine face,
dressed in a tailor-made gown of blue serge, and wearing pince-nez--that
was the apparition that brought Mr. Dashwood to a pause and caused him
for a moment to forget Mr. Giveen.
It was Miss Hitchen, the high-minded girl with the latchkey, the student
of eugenics and sociology, the lady who, in a moment of mental
aberration, had engaged herself to Mr. Dashwood, and who, after
recovering her senses, had disengaged herself, much to Mr. Dashwood's
relief. She was evidently looking for some friend expected but not
arrived.
For a moment Mr. Dashwood paused. He had never loved Miss Hitchen, but
he had always felt a profound respect for her intellect and a grasp of
things. In his present quandary, with French's fate literally in his
hands, and with no idea how to preserve it, the clever and capable face
of Miss Hitchen came as a light to a man in darkness.
They had parted in amity. In fact, the last words Miss Hitchen had said
to him were of a nature almost prophetic. "Bobby," she said, "if your
irresponsibility ever gets you into any scrape, and I can help you, let
me know, for you are just the sort of boy that gets into scrapes that
only women can help a man out of."
"Wait for me a moment," said Mr. Dashwood to Mr. Giveen. Then, pushing
through the crowd, he touched Miss Hitchen lightly on the arm.
She turned.
"Bobby!"
"I'm so awfully glad to see you--you can't tell. I say, I'm in a
scrape--not me, but another man. I can't explain everything at once.
Don't think there's anything wrong, but a man's whole fortune is hanging
in the balance, and I want you to help to save it. Just look round
there. Do you see that fellow in grey tweed, with a face like an--I
don't know what?"
"Yes," said Miss Hitchen, gazing at Mr. Giveen. "Is he the man in the
scrape?"
"No, he's the scrape. See here--will you drive with us to the Albany,
and I'll leave him in there, and we can speak about the thing. He's a
gentleman, and all that, but he's slightly mad, and the whole thing is
most curious."
"Yes," said Miss Hitchen. "I came here to meet a girl, but she hasn't
turned up. If I can help you in any way, I'm willing."
"Well, then, I'll introduce you to him, and I wish you'd study him on
the way to the Albany. I can't tell you the importance of all this till
we have a moment together alone."
Mr. Dashwood left his companion and made through the crowd towards Mr.
Giveen.
"I say," said Mr. Dashwood. "I've just met a lady friend, a most
charming girl, and she wants to be introduced to you."
"Sure, with pleasure," replied the lady-killer.
"Well, come along, then."
He led him by the arm towards where the girl was standing, and effected
the introduction.
"Now," said he, "as you say you are going in my direction, if the
presence of myself and my friend Giveen here will not bore you, may I
ask you to take a seat in my cab?"
"Oh, you won't bore me," replied Miss Hitchen, who with a searching
glance had taken in the face, form, and bearing of Giveen and who felt
for this new type of individual something of the interest a naturalist
feels on coming across a new species of insect. "You'll amuse me."
"Faith, we'll try our best," said Mr. Giveen, while Bobby Dashwood went
in search of a taxicab. "There's nothing like fun, is there? And, faith,
it's fun we've been having to-day, Mr. Smith and I."
"Mr. Smith?" said Miss Hitchen, and then recognising in a flash that the
pseudonym was part of some artless plan of Bobby's, "Oh, yes, Mr. Smith.
You mean my friend who has just introduced us. And what have you been
doing? I mean, what did your fun consist of?"
"Faith, it mostly consisted of a girl."
"Yes?"
Mr. Giveen tilted his hat and scratched his head. He did not shine as a
conversationalist, and as Miss Hitchen watched him, something of
disfavour for this humourist with the shifty manner of a self-conscious
child stole into her mind.
"Yes?" said Miss Hitchen.
"I beg your pardon?" said Mr. Giveen.
"You were saying something about a girl," said Miss Hitchen.
"Oh, ay, it was a girl down at a place in the country, and, faith, by
the same token, she was old enough to be my aunt," said Mr. Giveen. "It
was a bazaar."
"Yes?"
"And she was selling tea behind a counter and up I went, and 'What can I
serve you with?' says she. 'A cup of tea,' says I, 'and a bun.'"
"How funny! What did she reply?"
"Faith, I forget, but the next she says to me, 'One and sixpence,' she
says."
"Yes?"
"One and sixpence!" suddenly burst out Mr. Giveen. "Why, you might have
knocked me down with a feather. And I put me hand into me pocket, and
'Here's sixpence for you,' says I, 'and that's tuppence too much; but
you can keep the change.' With that she called an old gentleman up with
a red face, and then Mr. Smith came and took me by the arm, and out we
went."
"And the sixpence?"
"Faith, I've got it still in me pocket."
"How awfully amusing! But look, Mr. Smith has got us a cab. Thanks, no,
I never take gentlemen's arms; it is quite unnecessary."
They took their seats in the taxi, Miss Hitchen and Mr. Dashwood in the
back seat, Mr. Giveen sitting opposite to Miss Hitchen.
"The Albany, Piccadilly end," said Mr. Dashwood to the driver, and they
started.
Before they had well cleared the precincts of the station Miss Hitchen
was alive to the fact that Mr. Giveen was "making eyes at her"--ogling
her. Mr. Dashwood noted the same fact, and with his elbow touched his
companion's arm as if to implore her patience. To have stopped the
taxicab and kicked Mr. Giveen out of it would have been apples of gold
in pictures of silver to Mr. Dashwood, but he controlled himself,
contemplating French's possible salvation as a Buddhist controls himself
by contemplating Nirvana.
At the Piccadilly end of the Albany the taxicab drew up, and Miss
Hitchen, who was on the kerb side, alighted hurriedly. She stood on the
pavement waiting, while Mr. Dashwood paid the driver off, and then the
three entered the Albany. Mr. Dashwood's rooms were situated half-way
up, on the right-hand side, and at the entrance of them he stopped and
turned to Mr. Giveen.
"Will you come in and wait for me a few minutes? Miss Hitchen will
excuse me if I run in for a moment with you to show you the way. You can
sit and wait for me a few minutes while I see Miss Hitchen into a cab.
Come, this is the way."
Mr. Giveen held out his hand to the girl. "It's sorry I am to have seen
so little of you," said Mr. Giveen, "but, sure, if we have any luck, we
may meet again."
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Miss Hitchen, releasing her hand. "Good
evening."
She waited.
In less than a minute and a half Mr. Dashwood reappeared.
"Bobby," said Miss Hitchen, as she turned with him to the Vigo Street
entrance, "I have forgiven you many things, but that Thing is too much
to be forgiven without a very complete explanation. Do you know that it
put its toe on my foot in the cab?"
"Beast!" said Mr. Dashwood. "Can you imagine my fix, tied to it? I feel
as if I were going to burst. Now, look here. Here's my situation in a
nutshell. I know a man called French, the nicest fellow in the world.
He's almost broken; but he has one thing left--a racehorse. The horse is
almost sure to win the City and Suburban, and if he does French will
make a fortune. Well, French is training the horse down at Crowsnest, in
Sussex. French owes a moneylender named Lewis a lot of money, and Lewis
doesn't know where French is. If he knew it, he would send down a man
to-morrow and collar the horse. Do you see?"
"Yes."
"Giveen is French's cousin."
"Poor Mr. French!"
"And he has a mortal hatred to French. He has been hunting for his
address for the last long time, and he has found it. He went down to
Crowsnest to-day to make sure. He strayed into a bazaar that was going
on there, and I met him. He was acting like a cad, refusing to pay for a
cup of tea. Miss Grimshaw, French's governess, pointed him out to me,
and told me who he was, and I froze on to him. I said my name was Smith,
and I told him I hated French, and he unbosomed himself to me. Well,
here's the position now. To-morrow morning he's going down to Lewis, the
moneylender, and is going to put Lewis on to French. Now, you see the
position I'm in. For Heaven's sake, try to think of what's to be done."
"When is the race?" asked Miss Hitchen.
"On the 15th."
"Well, unless you murder him I don't see that anything is to be done. If
the race were to-morrow or next day, you might chloroform him, or lock
him up in your rooms, but you can't lock a man up for ten days."
"He ought to be locked up for life," said Bobby. "Idiot! If I could only
make the beast tipsy, I might do something with him, but he drinks
nothing--only stone gingerbeer."
"Ah!" suddenly said Miss Hitchen, pausing.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Dashwood.
"An idea."
"Yes?"
"Why not sequestrate him?"
"What's that?"
"Hide him away."
"Where on earth could I hide him?"
"Good gracious, Bobby, haven't you any imagination?"
"Not much," replied the unfortunate Bobby. "I was never any good at
working out things, and now I'm so addled I can't think."
"Well, now, listen to me. I don't want to be accessory before the act in
this business, and I only make suggestions. Tell me, do you not
sometimes go duck-shooting?"
"Yes."
"Where do you go?"
"Essex."
"Where in Essex (I know, because you have several times told me, but I
want you to fully answer my question)--where in Essex do you go duck
shooting?"
"Why, you know very well it's Flatmarsh, down near Canvey Island."
"Where do you stay there?"
"Uncle James' hole of a cottage."
"Is Uncle James' hole of a cottage occupied now?"
"No."
"No one lives near it?"
"Not within six miles."
"Good. Can you drive a motor-car?"
"Should think so!"
"And hire one?"
"Yes; I've got tick at Simpson's. Oh, by Jove! I see what you mean!"
"I'm glad you do; otherwise I would have fancied that your mental sight
was defective."
"I see what you mean. But, look here, if I got him down there, how
would I feed the beast and keep him hid?"
"Biscuits and tinned meat can be bought, and enough for a fortnight
wouldn't cost more than, say, three or four pounds."
"And there's a well there, so we'd have plenty of water," said Mr.
Dashwood. "I say, you are a ripper. I'd never have thought of all that."
"Would Simpson, or whoever he is, let you hire a car for a fortnight?"
"'Course he would. I always pay up my bills, though he has to wait
sometimes; but I paid him my last bill a month ago."
"Where is his place?"
"Just close here, in Regent-street."
"Now, another thing--can you imagine what it would be to live for nearly
a fortnight alone in a cottage with a person like that, acting as his
gaoler?"
"Oh, heavens!" said Bobby. "You think everything! No, I can't, but I'll
do it to save French."
"Bobby," said Miss Hitchen.
"Yes?"
"Do you know what I have discovered?"
"No."
"That I'm a fool."
"You a fool?"
"Yes. I thought you were only an irresponsible boy, but I find you're a
man."
"Thanks, thanks," said Bobby. "Anyhow, I'll try to be."
"You needn't thank me. Now, have you any money?"
"About five pounds."
"Well, I'll lend you another five pounds. No, I won't, but I'll buy the
provisions myself. If I left that to you, you'd forget the essentials.
Are there plates and things at the cottage?"
"Lots."
"Well, now, like a good boy, go at once to Simpson's, and order the car,
and get back before that animal takes it into his head to escape."
"Do you mean I ought to take him to-night?"
"Of course I mean it."
"Will I see you again this evening?"
"No, but you can write and tell me the result. Same address. The
provisions for your excursion will be sent to the Albany by special
messenger within the hour. And, oh, Bobby!"
"Yes."
"Do be artful. Say you are taking him out to dinner at a country house.
Once he's in the car----"
"Once he's in the car," said Bobby, "he'll stick in it, or I'll smash
him up. Oh, leave him to me. But I can never thank you enough. What
makes you so awfully clever?"
"He squeezed my foot," said Miss Hitchen.