“I—I take it the bath works all right,” said George desperately.
“It don’t leak,” said the porter, “if that’s wot you mean.”
Once more George looked round, racking his brain and trying to remember
that one day the porter would die.
Then he turned to the basin and pushed back his cuffs.
“I think I’ll wash my hands,” he announced. “Can you get me a towel?”
“An’ then you’re wrong,” said the porter. “There ain’t no water.”
George could have broken his neck.
Instead, he turned to the window, trying to keep his head and wondering
vaguely what constituted ‘justifiable homicide.’
Suddenly the idea flashed, and he swung on his heel.
“Who’s that?” he said sharply, and listened.
The porter started.
“Ooze wot?” he said.
“Somebody closed the front door.”
The porter slipped out of the room and tiptoed towards the hall.
Instantly George fell upon his face. . . .
He had one arm beneath the bath when the porter reappeared.
“Thort as much,” said the latter, “you young cunnin’ brute. An’ now I
’ave got yer—cold. You’re for it, my son. I wouldn’ give much fer your
chances. ’Tempt ter commit a felony—that’s wot it is. Stolen ‘order to
view’—passin’ yerself orf as Keptin Chellenger—temptin’ ter bribe
. . . _an’ all fer a little green stone as don’ belong to yer_.”
George extricated his arm and rose to his feet.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said shortly. “When was it found?”
The porter entered the bathroom and approached to Fulke’s a perfectly
furious countenance.
“‘Fool’?” he breathed. “‘Fool’ did joo say?”
George recoiled, and the face proportionately advanced. Its eyes were
blazing: its chin protruded out of all reason.
“You ’as the blarsted nerve to call me a fool. You ’as——”
There was not much room to duck, but Fulke did it.
As the fist sang over his shoulder, he landed a vicious punch.
The porter staggered backwards. Then the porcelain rim caught him under
the hocks, and it was all over.
As he fell into the bath, George slid out of the room and, finding a key
in the door, turned it gratefully.
A moment later he was streaking up Sloane Street. . . .
* * * * *
It was, perhaps, ten minutes later that Julia, frantic, ran Hubert
Challenger to earth.
“Hubert, where have you been?”
“Hurlingham,” said Hubert calmly. “How lovely you look.”
“Not all day?”
“Very nearly. I came up to town this morning, did one or two jobs of
work and——”
“At your rooms they said you were in Bucks: at Bucks they said you were
in town: I wired to each of your clubs and half the restaurants in
London: I——”
“You also warned the barber,” said Hubert. “Only a genius would have
thought of that. I’ve come straight along.”
“Can you stop that notice going in?”
“With the acme of ease,” said Hubert. “I haven’t posted the letter.”
“But you said——”
“I said I’d written, dear. I didn’t say I’d posted it.”
Torn between relief and indignation, Julia felt rather faint.
“Hubert,” she said weakly, sinking on to the arm of a chair, “I may tell
you you’ve shortened my life. Last night I dined with George Fulke.”
“Naturally,” said Hubert, sitting down. “They all do. As a second
string, George’s position is unique. And I’m glad you did. I rather like
George.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Julia. “He’s—he’s utterly spoiled.”
“In other words,” said Hubert, “he’s getting wise. Don’t say he’s done
it on you.”
“He behaved abominably. I told him to find the ring. D’you know he
actually tried to bargain with me?”
“Quite right too,” said Hubert. “Why shouldn’t he have a look in? What
was his price?”
“Only me,” said Julia. “If he found the ring I was to marry him.”
Challenger nodded approval.
“It is clear,” he said, “that George is finding himself. What did you
say?”
“I said that if he found the ring he could announce our engagement one
month after yours and mine had been cancelled.”
Challenger opened his eyes.
“You must like George very much.”
“I wouldn’t be seen dead with him.”
“Then where,” said Hubert, “is the snag?”
Julia hesitated.
“I—I said ‘officially cancelled.’ You know. Put in _The Times_. But I
never meant it to be done. I—I thought we could just tell people.”
“Oh, what a dirty one,” said Hubert.
“It wasn’t at all,” said Julia indignantly. “Besides, he asked for it.
He tried to do me down. . . . And then—then I got your letter.”
“Ah,” said Hubert. “That shortened George’s price.”
“It was two to one on him,” cried Julia. “You’d disappeared: he’d only
to find the ring—and that he did, my dear, quite early this morning.”
She held up a delicate finger, at once adorning and adorned by a
magnificent gem. “A messenger-boy——”
Challenger looked down his nose.
“As a matter of fact, he was scratched at half-past nine. I found the
symbol, my lady, and sent it along.”
Julia started to her feet.
“_You_—found—it?”
“I,” said Hubert, “with my little eye. I found the ring. I happened upon
it, as they say, in the course of a job of work.”
“Where?”
Challenger rose to his feet.
“Julia,” he said, “after the barber had cleansed me I was going to call
upon you. I was going to beg your pardon and ask you very humbly to have
another dart. I don’t want to stimy George, but I’ve taken Sloane Street
on a seven years’ lease, and——”
“Hubert, you haven’t!”
“Why not, dear? I took it first thing this morning, and, being so close,
I just felt round for the ring. There it was—in the midst of the
bathroom. I gave the porter a fiver just for luck, and——”
“But, Hubert, I’ve taken South Street.”
“_Julia!_”
Miss Willow nodded. Then she put out her hands, and Challenger caught
them in his.
“You were perfectly right,” she said. “You always are. South Street is
incomparable. And I thought, perhaps, if you didn’t think me too
capricious to live with . . . in South Street . . .”
“My blessed darling,” said Hubert, with his cheek against hers. “My
beautiful——”
Here the telephone stammered an interruption.
Challenger kissed his lady. Then he lifted his head.
“George,” he said, “for a monkey.”
Miss Willow picked up the receiver.
“Is that you, Julia?” cried Fulke.
“Oh, George,” said Miss Willow, “I am so glad you rang up. I want you to
do something for me.”
There was a choking noise.