The "Heavenly Chariot" was Judy's name for the Bennetts' shining gray
car. The Pendletons had one of their own, an elderly and dignified
Daimler, but for some reason unfathomable by the younger members of the
family, it was never allowed out at night, when it was most wanted.
Millicent thought that Forbes, the old chauffeur and ex-coachman,
required his evenings to himself, and as Forbes had never been known to
object to this arrangement, it stood, and the family relied on taxis, or
the underground.
So that Judy was feeling uncommonly luxurious close on eleven that
night, when the beautiful gray nose of the Heavenly Chariot thrust its
way through the fog that had shut London from the sky for three days
past. She loved the movement, the mystery of the dark streets, the
soft menace of the fog.
"This is the very essence of London," she thought.
They turned into Pall Mall, and she was sorry to think that the perfect
motion would cease in a moment. What happened next, happened with such
amazing suddenness that in three seconds it became a problem already to
be reckoned with, a situation to be met as best one could.
They had knocked some one down in the fog. An instant before she had
been reveling in that smooth slipping along--almost the annihilation of
friction--and now, between the ticks of a clock, some one, because of
this inconsequential little journey of theirs, was robbed of health
perhaps, or life. While her mind was struggling to accept a fact so
hateful, her feet had taken her to the front of the car almost before
the chauffeur had brought it to a standstill. Their victim had clung
to that long gray nose--clung for an instant and then gone down.
Another man was bending over him, drawing him gently into the pool of
radiance their lights made.
"Chip!" the other man was saying. "Chip, old man, are you badly hurt?"
There was no answer. Judy put her arm under the limp man's shoulder, and
they raised him up. He stood swaying between them.
"Take him to the car," she said.
A constable (who seemed nebulous all but his buttons, which the light
caught) loomed up out of the blackness, and demanded names and
addresses. Mills, the chauffeur, seemed unable to cope with the
disaster, which he considered had come upon them ready-made, out of the
night.
"It was my friend's fault entirely," said the other man. "He started to
cross without looking."
"Can't be too careful a night like this," remarked the constable, making
entries in his notebook.
The victim suddenly straightened himself and said in a thick voice,
"I'm perfectly all right." Then he became limp again.
It was at this moment that Noel arrived, having been keeping a
look-out, as instructed by Judy. The wail of metal-studded tires being
brought to a sudden stop had attracted his notice, and he came out to
see what was up. The constable, observing his empty sleeve, addressed
him as Captain, and things began to progress. Like many another
policeman who has to do with street crossings, this one considered
women biological absurdities. Mills and the victim's friend got "Chip"
into the car and made him as comfortable as possible. Noel sat outside
with Mills, and Judy sat beside the injured man, overcoming an almost
uncontrollable impulse to draw that bending head down to her shoulder.
For the belief had come to her, at the moment when she saw Chip's white
face in the glare from their lamps, that they had chosen the nicest man
in all London to knock down.
His friend, who sat sideways in one of the small seats, introduced
himself as Major Stroud, and the victim, on whom he kept an anxious
eye, as Major Crosby.
"He'll be all right as soon as we get him home and to bed," he assured
Judy. "It's too bad, but you're not in any way to blame. Saw the whole
thing, so I know. Crosby's always walking into things. He's
everlastingly thinking about that book of his. I tried to grab his
arm, but it was too late."
"How badly do you think he's hurt?" She could hear the injured man's
laborious breathing, and was heartsick.
"Oh, just a knock on the head, I expect, against that curb. Thank Heaven
it was no worse. Your chauffeur did splendidly. Can't think how he
avoided running over him."
"But a knock on the head may mean----"
"Now don't you worry about it, Miss----"
"Pendleton," Judy said.
"Miss Pendleton. I'll ring up the doctor as soon as we get to his rooms.
He's pretty tough--aren't you, Chip old man?"
He put an affectionate hand on his friend's knee. At that moment Chip
swayed suddenly toward Judy's fur-wrapped shoulder.
"Better let me sit there, Miss Pendleton," suggested Major Stroud. "He's
no light weight."
"It's all right," said Judy. "I was a V.A.D. for years." She slipped her
hand down to his wrist and felt his pulse. "Why do you say he's always
thinking about his book? What book?"
"Oh, Chip's a writer, you see. He's always writing something. Just now
it's a book on religions. Queer hobby for a fighting chap, isn't it?"
The car sang its way up Campden Hill while Judy listened to what Major
Stroud had to say about his friend. He was evidently devoted to him.
When they stopped at last, purring softly before a narrow house in a
narrow turning off Church Street, she felt she knew more about the two
of them than she did about many people she had known far longer.
"Make short work of things now," said the Major in his brisk way as he
got out. "Come along, Chip old man."
Very gently he and Mills lifted him out, and carried him into the house
and up three flights of excessively dark and narrow stairs, while Judy
and Noel followed behind. They had to pause once or twice as the weight
and length of their burden made getting round corners very difficult.
"I'm going to wait till the doctor comes," said Noel. "Hadn't you better
go home in the car now, Judy?"
"Why should I?" she demanded. "Can't I wait too? I dare say I can help.
Noel, isn't it ghastly?"
"I like Chip," said Noel. "It's funny, but I did the moment I saw him.
Didn't you?"
Judy nodded, unable to say much. Her throat ached, and she knew she was
not very far from tears. It was so grotesque and unreal, that they
should have caused this unnecessary suffering.
Major Stroud telephoned to the doctor, and Mills went to fetch him, as
being the quickest way. Meanwhile Noel and the Major got Chip into bed.
Judy, left to herself, explored the little flat. She lit a gas-ring in
the tiny kitchenette and put a kettle on. Then she found a small store
of brandy which she brought out in case it was wanted. As she busied
herself getting ready things the doctor might ask for she made herself
well acquainted with Chip's home. The sitting room possessed two solidly
comfortable chairs and a sofa, all covered in brown linen. There was a
gate-legged table, two etchings by Rops, and a vast number of books on
religious subjects. Except for the books and the etchings it was as
impersonal a room as a man could have. It touched her, it was so--she
searched for a word--so starved.
"Man cannot live by books alone, my poor Chip," she thought. She seemed
to see again the kindly, tired lines about his mouth and eyes. She
imagined a lonely life for him, with Major Stroud as the only close
human tie. They had been through two campaigns together, the latter had
told her. Fancy calling the Great War a campaign! She smiled at the
thought. A hard-bitten man, the Major. She supposed the two were about
of an age--say, forty-three. Bachelors? Oh, undoubtedly.
Then the doctor arrived--a cheerful, bustling man with a short gray
beard. He seemed to have known the two of them for years.
"I helped to bring this young man into the world," he told Judy,
clapping an affectionate hand on the Major's solid shoulder. That
gentleman, who didn't look as though he could possibly have needed help
on that or any other occasion, smiled a little sheepishly, and then the
bedroom door closed upon them. Noel and Judy, left in unhappy suspense
in the sitting room looked at one another.
"Why couldn't you have knocked down some drunken rotter?" asked Noel,
walking about the room with his hand in his pocket. "Why pick out Chip?"
Strange how the name had made itself at home with both of them!
"Why? Oh, Noel, I can't bear it to be true! Haven't we dreamt it all? If
anything happens to him----"
"If only there are no beastly consequences," said Noel, frowning, "you
may have done everybody a good turn in the end. I mean--he seems such a
decent sort--I like him. And I think he might like us."
Judy nodded.
"But I'm afraid it's concussion, Noel."
"It may be only very slight. Well, we'll know in a few minutes. There
was a terrible bump on his forehead, but we couldn't find any other
marks."
"Suppose we'd killed him!" It wasn't like Judy to suppose ghastly
possibilities. "If I hadn't gone to the club to pick you up," she
mused, "if I'd gone straight home, it wouldn't have happened."
"Oh, hush, Judy! What's the good of all that? Look here"--he paused in
front of her--"Chip evidently isn't well off. I intend to arrange with
the doctor, about bills. So you back me up, won't you?"
"Of course. I'd thought of that too. And Noel----"
"Well?"
"Let's keep this to ourselves. I'd much rather not tell the family
anything about it. Wouldn't you?"
"Much. It's our affair."
"I've hardly spent any of my allowance lately. We'll go halves about the
bills.... Don't even tell Gordon, will you?"
"Gordon? He's about the last person I'd tell."
Here the doctor returned, followed by Major Stroud. They closed the
bedroom door softly.
"Nothing to worry about," the doctor told them cheerfully, in that
hearty voice common to the medical profession. "A man might come off
worse in the hunting field any day, and no one make a fuss about it.
Slight concussion and bruises, and that's all, young lady."
"Well, it's quite enough," said she. "I hate concussions. And there
really are no bones broken? You're not trying to spare our feelings?"
"Word of honor as a father of seven. You can come and see your victim
with your own eyes in a day or two. Major Stroud will spend the night
here on the sofa, and the nurse will be on hand in the morning, if she's
wanted. So now, Miss Juggernaut, you may roll home with a peaceful
mind."
"You've cheered us up a lot, sir," said Noel, shaking hands with him.
Major Stroud took them to the door, after writing down their telephone
number on a pad that the methodical Chip had hanging over his desk.
"You'll tell him, when he comes to, how sorry we are, and how ... how
anxious?"
But the Major shook his head at her.
"I'll leave that to you," he said as they parted. "He'll get the devil
of a talking to from me--careless beggar."
They gave the news to the waiting Mills, and drove home with little
talk. When Judy reached the door of her room, she kissed Noel good
night.
"I'm glad we decided not to tell any one," she whispered. "Mother would
look him up in _Who's Who_. It would be horrible."
"What about Claire?"
"Oh, we can tell her, of course."