“Oh, you couldn’t see that, madam,” said P.C. Albert Bloke.
Oblivious of the agonized signals which Derry was making behind the
officer’s back—
“Of course I could,” cried Virginia. “The car had right-hand steering,
and she was on the right—with a man by her side. She had one hand—on
the wheel.”
Her cheeks flaming, frantically twisting her rings, Rosemary moistened
her lips and prayed for death.
The constable shrugged his shoulders and let his pencil stray.
“If you was to say that, madam, you’d be asked if you’d know ’em again,
an’ then you would ’ave to say ‘No.’”
“On the contrary,” said Virginia, “_I should know them anywhere_.”
“Bee-utiful,” said Derry, wiping the sweat from his face. Virginia
started at his tone and a finger flew to her lip. “Constable, I
congratulate you. As delicate a piece of leading as ever I saw. Step by
step, right over the edge, into the muck-heap. And now we _are_ all
right. ‘I recognize the defendant as the woman I saw: I also recognize
the man.’ Any more for the witness-box? My God, what a scoop for the
Press. And I should think ‘the woman’ driving ’d get about five years.”
Rosemary went very white.
“Maximum penalty, three months, sir.”
“That all? What a shame! Never mind. Read out your shorthand notes
before you transcribe them. I’d like to hear the—the death-warrant.”
In the midst of an appalling silence Rosemary burst into tears.
“I—I think you’re very unkind,” she sobbed, addressing Virginia.
“Poor—poor ‘woman.’ I—I don’t suppose for a moment she meant any harm.
And but—but for you she wouldn’t have been hauled up and sent to
prison.”
Virginia was on her knees at Rosemary’s feet.
“Oh, my darling,” she cried, “what a poisonous fool I’ve been! I only
meant to pull your leg. I never dreamed——”
A hurricane of coughing from Major Peruke cut short the sentence.
As the paroxysm subsided he turned to P.C. Bloke.
“The lady,” he said gravely, “is naturally upset. If you remember, she
saw a car going fast the other day. Besides, we don’t talk about it, but
when quite a child her grocer was convicted of pound-breach, and she’s
never got over it.”
Supposing Mrs. Chase to be simple and wondering what pound-breach might
be—
“Quite so, sir,” said P.C. Bloke. “Might I ’ave your lady’s full name?”
“Certainly. Virginia Stacey Peruke. What had she better wear when she
goes to Court? Mourning?”
Virginia began to weep violently, and P.C. Bloke, who was writing,
dropped his pencil and regarded her open-mouthed.
“Supposing,” said Roger suddenly, “supposing you took my statement.”
Derry started and Rosemary stiffened in her chair. Virginia continued to
sob explosively. “I mean, as the lady’s going, I may as well back her
up.”
“Without doubt, sir,” said the constable greedily. “May I ’ave——”
“I first saw the coupé,” said Roger, “when it was almost upon us. The
headlights picked it up and enabled me to see right into the car. As our
chauffeur applied his brakes, the man who was driving the coupé——”
“‘The woman,’ I think you mean, sir.”
“No, no,” said Roger calmly. “It was a man driving. As I was saying,
he——”
“But the lady’s stated——”
“Has she?” said Captain Chase, stifling a yawn. “Oh, well, I can’t help
that. He had a hand on the wheel, and——”
“One moment, sir. Which side was the steering on?”
“On the right,” said Roger. “The man was driving with a woman by his
side.”
For a moment nobody breathed. Then the constable took out a handkerchief
and mopped his face.
“Well, that beats it,” he said wearily. “’Ere’s a direc’ conflic’ on the
most important point. They can’t both ’ve bin drivin’.” He turned to
Virginia. “Madam, are you sure——”
“P-positive,” quavered Virginia.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Roger. “He had a spade-shaped beard.”
“She hadn’t,” said Virginia stoutly. “She looked perfectly sweet.”
P.C. Bloke put his note-book and pencil away.
Then he turned to Derry.
“One or the other’s mistook, sir. That’s perfectly plain. And there for
the moment I’ll leave it. If I may ’ave a word with your chauffeur
. . .”
“I see,” said Major Peruke. “I suppose you want him to give the
casting-vote. If he says a woman was driving, you’ll call the lady. If
he says a man was driving——”
“Well, sir,” said Bloke uneasily, “we mus’ do our best. The
Commissioner’s orders——”
“Assume he says that the driver of the coupé was a man. Very good. In
that case you call that gentleman. _Supposing the defence were to get
hold of Mrs. Peruke._”
“We mus’ ’ope they wouldn’t, sir.”
“_But they have_,” said Derry. “In fact, they’ve got hold of them both:
and whichever one you don’t want they’re going to call.”
The constable stared at the speaker with starting eyes.
Then he glanced round wildly.
Virginia and Captain Chase were nodding confirmatively.
“But the summons ain’t issued,” he cried. “There ain’t no defence—not
yet. Why, the coopy don’t even know that its number was took.”
“Oh yes, it do—doth,” said Derry. “You told us as much—just now.
‘Whose number I afterwards ascertained to be XL 9436.’”
“Yes, but you ain’t the defence, sir.”
“Not yet,” was the pregnant reply.
The luckless officer recoiled against the wall.
“‘Not yet’?” he said hoarsely. “_‘Not yet’?_ Why, then, you . . .”
“We were the coupé,” said Derry. He nodded at Mrs. Chase. “That lady and
I.”
“You . . . you was—oh, Gawd, what a perishin’ ’ave,” said P.C. Bloke.
The serio-comic note which the apostrophe sounded was irresistible: the
realization that it was also sounding the retreat was overwhelming: the
four dissolved in peals of hysterical laughter.
With tears running down his cheeks, Derry sloshed whisky and soda into a
glass and pressed the beverage into the constable’s hand.
“You’ve earned it,” he sobbed. “Earned it better than you know. ‘One
crowded hour of glorious life is worth’ a spot without a stain—and a
bit over. We’ll adjust the balance in a minute. What are you going to
tell the Commissioner?”
Albert Bloke put his empty hand to his head.
“I never see such a case,” he said unsteadily. “Talk about ’and in
glove. Why, the pro’ibited degrees ain’t in it. An’ there’s my answer.
_’Usbands an’ wives ain’t competent witnesses, sir._”
There was a sudden silence.