“Any way,” said Roger thickly, “those two have opened my eyes. You’re
undeniably lovely, but you’re devilish——”
“Strict,” said Virginia, laying a hand on his arm. “Like your Athenian
audience. I want a happy ending—so very much.”
The man turned and looked at the beautiful face.
This was eager, but the great grey eyes were wistful, and the exquisite
mouth——
It occurred to Roger suddenly that the mouth could not be compared to
that of Rosemary.
“So—so do I,” he faltered.
* * * * *
The Inspector leaned back in his chair and took his cigar from his lips.
“Look ’ere,” he said. “Before you asks for your summons you must ’ave
your witnesses.”
“That’s right,” said Constable Bloke of the Metropolitan Police.
“Well, where are they?” said the Inspector, with the triumphant air of
one who knows that whatever answer he receives can be ground to powder.
P.C. Albert Bloke consulted his notes.
“They was in the car bearin’ the number XH 2908, sir.”
“Then you mus’ see them,” said the Inspector, “an’ take their
statemen’s.” He restored his cigar to his mouth. “If they was as near
smashed up as wot you say, they’ll be ready enough to come: an’ any way,
if you don’t give ’em their choice, they’ll think they’ve got to.”
“That’s right,” said P.C. Bloke.
“Well, you get ’old of them this afternoon. Don’t touch the chauffeur
till you’ve seen ’oo was in the car. Then ask respectful if you may see
’im. If their statemen’s is O.K., we’ll get legal assistance ’ere.”
“We did ought to,” said the constable earnestly. “It’s as wicked a case
of——”
“No case ain’t wicked without evidence,” said the Inspector. “Don’t you
forget that, sonny. An’ yours alone ain’t worth a couple o’ kicks. You
must ’ave corroboration. That coopy’ll bring down counsel—you see if it
don’t. An’ if you ’adn’t got no backing—why, ’e’d turn you inside out
before your eyes.” He raised his own to heaven and sighed as one who
trusts that his enemies’ offences against him are not forgotten. “I’ve
’ad some,” he added heavily. “Never min’. Statemen’s, summons, legal
assistance and conviction. That’s the order, me boy, an’ statemen’s
first.”
“Very good, sir,” said P.C. Bloke.
The constable was ambitious.
Ever since orders had come through that the reckless driving of motor
vehicles was to be actively discouraged, P.C. Albert Bloke had been
awaiting his chance. This, until one that morning, an inscrutable
Fortune had obstinately withheld. Then all of a sudden she had
smiled—dazzlingly.
At dangerous cross-roads a coupé, proceeding at an unlawful speed, had
swerved right across the roadway, almost collided with a limousine, very
nearly knocked him down, passed a refuge on the wrong side and taken no
notice at all of his orders to stop. (Such disregard was hardly
surprising, for by the time the orders were given the car was out of
earshot: but P.C. Bloke had decided that the ends of justice should not
be defeated like that, and that if the coupé’s misconduct had cramped
his style that was its own funeral.) More. The coupé’s tail-light was
luminous, its number-plate clean, and P.C. Bloke had his note-book in
his hand. As though to crown his endeavours, the limousine, plainly
indignant, had dallied just long enough to enable him to add her number
to that of the offending car.
Reference to the licensing authorities had given him the names of the
owners of the respective cars, and an interview with his Inspector had,
as we have seen, pointed the path to glory and the surest way to tread.
When he turned into Curzon Street at a quarter past five, P.C. Albert
Bloke was prepared to wring a statement from a Trappist.
Peering into the library of the house which he was seeking, you might
have thought that the bird of Care had there no rest for the sole of its
foot. To be frank, it was on the wing.
That morning Virginia had breakfasted downstairs for the first time for
half a year. Afterwards, at her suggestion, she and Derry had played a
round of golf. The game did much, but the way in which she had asked him
to give her lunch was irresistible. Her husband’s surprise at her
attention was swallowed in a spring-tide of joy. This was infectious.
Resolutely thrusting Rosemary out of her thoughts, Virginia found him
attractive as never before and, surreptitiously comparing him with
Roger, began to wonder whether she had been bewitched. When in the
afternoon they repaired to Lord’s, pride of possession came to steal her
content. Thronged as was the ground with a distinguished company,
brilliant as was the parade upon the mighty green, Derry Peruke stood
out, a notable figure of a man. Virginia was equally conspicuous, but
love had no eyes for that. Presently Royalty saw them, and the two were
sent for. Virginia’s cup was full. . . .
The match was over early, and as they were leaving the ground two
familiar figures emerged from a covered stand and, apparently engrossed
in mutual admiration, stepped almost into their arms.
For a second Virginia’s sun lurched in his heaven. Then, quick as a
flash, she did the right thing.
“My dear,” she said to Rosemary, “but what a peach of a dress. Come back
and have tea in Curzon Street and let me digest its style. And I’ll show
you one from Michele that I’m afraid to put on.”
Mrs. Chase picked up her cue. . . .
The four shared a taxi to Mayfair and, putting their shoulders to the
tambourine, kept this upon the move. Their efforts met with success. By
inches uneasiness was shunted, and by the time that tea was served the
four were displaying a fellowship which was every moment becoming more
spontaneous. Old days, old laughter were recaptured: umbrage was
overwhelmed, the sense of injury starved. The spectre of resentment was
there, but it was under hatches.
Then the butler entered and spoke to Derry.
“A policeman?” said the latter. “Oh, a summons, I s’pose. Jenny, m’dear,
have you been stopped in the Park?”
“That’s right,” said Virginia, turning. “On Monday. But what a sinful
shame. I wasn’t doing thirty, and they said at the time—— Constable!”
“Madam,” said P.C. Bloke and entered the room.
“Who applied for this summons? Was it a keeper with a grey moustache?”
P.C. Bloke stared.
“What summons, madam?” he said blankly.
Amid a roar of laughter, Virginia clapped her hands to her mouth.
“I have said the wrong thing, haven’t I? Never mind. Constable, I’m sure
from your face you know when to be deaf.”
P.C. Bloke grinned respectfully.
“I ’ope so, madam.”
“That’s right,” said Virginia. “And now what can we do for you?”
The constable turned to Derry.
“Major Peruke, sir?”
“That’s right,” said Derry comfortably. “What have I done?”
“Nothin’ at all, sir,” said Bloke hastily. “I’m not after you. But I
think you’ve a limousine car, sir,” he added with a business-like air.
“So I have,” said Derry Peruke.
“Number XH 2908, sir.”
“Quite right,” said Derry, wondering what was afoot.
“Were you usin’ ’er early this mornin’, sir?”
Virginia started, Rosemary caught her breath, and Roger, who had been
about to drink, held his refreshment for a moment half-way to his lips
and then replaced it untasted upon a table. Of the four Peruke alone
betrayed no emotion at all.
“Yes,” he said casually enough. “Drove here from Carlton House Terrace
about—about half-past two, wasn’t it, dear?”