Gale Warning (6 page)

“Quite so,” said Mansel. “It’s going to be very hard. But remember we’re four to one, and that’s going to be a great help.”

I saw the stars leap into my lady’s eyes.

“My God, d’you mean that, Jonah? You’ll really let me come in?”

Mansel smiled.

“Up to the neck, my dear – if you’ll swear to do as I say. I’m bound to warn you, you may have a pretty rough time. I don’t say you will, but you may. No bath and no bed for two days, or possibly three, It all depends on where Barabbas hangs out. And if you fall by the way, we must let you lie.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lady Audrey. “I shan’t do that. And what do I care if it’s rough? I’d sleep in my clothes for a month, if that would help us to get that butcher down.”

“We know you would,” said Mansel, “and that’s why we want you in. For your sake only, I’d rather that you were a man.” He turned to me. “Audrey,” he said, “is one of those very few women who have a way with a car. I can almost believe that she could drive in her sleep. And her sense of direction is the finest I ever saw.”

“And as those two gifts,” said Chandos, “are precisely what is required – I’m assuming, of course, that our man will travel by road – not to use them would be suicidal: you can’t get away from that.”

My lady inclined her head.

“Thank you both,” she said gravely. “I promise I won’t let you down. She turned to me. You mustn’t believe all you hear. On my day out I’m not too bad on the road, but Richard is better than I am, and Jonah can drive a car backwards smoother and faster than most men can drive one in first.”

“Which is absurd,” said Mansel. “And now I’m going to be brutal, pull the rip-cord and bring our balloon down to earth. ‘I’m assuming,’ said William just now. So are we all: and it’s done us a power of good. Agreeable speculation is just like a Turkish bath. But now we must take our cold plunge – and go back to Sermon Square.

“I hope that before very long the scene will shift, and, as I told you just now, I shall do my best to ensure that, when it does, we can walk straight on in the next. But it may not shift for some time. Bagot may come and go, yet not set eyes on his man; and though there’s always the church, Benning and Sheba’s late sittings are probably very rare. It’s no good not facing these things…

“Bagot will start work on Monday – and concentrate all he knows upon keeping his job. He will also avoid Tulip Lane and the leads of the church of St Ives. Once is enough, when enough’s been as good as a feast. At lunch-time he’ll keep his eyes open – no more than that. Be ready, of course: but on no account look for your man. And don’t try and pick out Rowley: his eye’s not dim.”

He stopped, to glance at his watch.

“Time to burn,” he said. “But Audrey gets out at Swindon and Bagot at Stroud. Most inconvenient, of course: but that is the worst of being without the law. And no one need be afraid of going to sleep. Carson is on duty as call-boy, and he won’t fail.”

With that, he closed his eyes, and after a little Chandos began to doze. But I was too much excited to take any rest, so I sat back and waited till Lady Audrey should speak.

For a while she stared out of the window on to the flying country she could not see. Then with a sigh she looked round, to glance at Mansel and Chandos and then at me.

“You must be tired,” she said.

I shook my head.

“I haven’t done much today.”

“I don’t agree,” she said shortly. She settled herself in her corner and put up her elegant feet. “And I shouldn’t have called you a remount. I might have known that George wouldn’t make a mistake.”

“It was true enough,” said I.

“Well, it isn’t now. You’ve – ‘passed out.’ In future I’ll call you ‘John.’ And if you can manage ‘Audrey’ – well, that’s my name.”

“If you please,” said I, and felt more than pleased myself.

“Tell me honestly – how do you feel about things? Shall we ever discover Barabbas?” Before I could answer, she lifted a little hand. “Don’t say ‘Of course we shall,’ for we’re past that stage. Pretend you’re a looker-on, and then say what you think.”

“I think,” said I, “it’s only a question of time.”

“We’re red-hot now because we’re straight from the fire. But after a while, you know, an iron grows cold.”

“This one won’t,” said I, and meant what I said. “Barabbas will go to Hell – no doubt about that. But I want to take his ticket and see him off. George was damned good to me.”

To that she made no reply, and when I looked up, she was staring out of the window, with one of her hands to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I speak as I feel.”

Her head was round in a flash.

“Try not to be a damned fool.”

I swallowed.

“To tell you the truth,” I said, “I’m not very good at women.”

“Dear God,” says she, “and when did you find that out?”

“Two nights ago,” said I, “when I spoke on the telephone.”

There was a little silence.

Then—

“You say,” she said, “that you think it’s a question of time. But in your heart you know it’s a question of luck.”

“Not altogether,” said I. “Let me put it like this. We are going to go to all lengths to get what we want: we are going to spare no labour and no expense: we are going to take every precaution that man can take. Well, people who do these things are very well placed for dealing with what is called luck. If it’s good, they can pounce upon it and suck it dry: if it’s bad, they can cope with it better than people less well prepared.”

“Very specious, John; but, supposing we get so far, we shall need the devil’s own luck to keep in touch with your gentleman’s car in France.”

“I don’t know the country,” said I. “But I’ve always understood that it’s much more open than England.”

“It is,” said Audrey. “And the traffic is very slight. But if there’s plenty of room, there are plenty of roads, and if I didn’t want to be followed, I guess that I’d have my way.”

“I can’t argue with you about that. But human nature should help.”

“What d’you mean by that?” said Audrey.

“He’ll put us through it to start with – no doubt about that. Twist and turn and double,
in case
he is being trailed. And then, being human, he’ll make up his mind that he’s safe and stick to the path. Precautions pall very fast, when, for all you know, they may be a waste of time.”

“You’re begging the question,” said Audrey. “If ever a man of that type makes up his mind that he’s safe, you may bet he is safe. Never mind. Are you as good at French as you are at women?”

“Just about,” said I. “I can’t speak a blasted word.”

“Dear God,” says she, “that’s a help.”

“I depend upon you,” said I, “to talk and to drive.”

She stared upon me open-mouthed.

“Thanks very much,” said she. “And what will you do?”

“I shall keep you straight,” said I. “If I can do that, I believe we ought to get home.”

Audrey glanced round the carriage, as though for support. But Chandos’ lips were pursed and Mansel was smiling – apparently in his sleep. With a sudden movement, she pushed back her thick dark hair.

“All square,” she said. “And I thought I was good at men.”

“I should think you are,” said I. “Very good indeed.”

She shook her head.

“You’ve shown me, John, that I have a lot to learn. And now I’m going to do what I can to doze, and you’d better do the same. You’ve earned a better night than you’re going to get.”

With that, before I could answer, she shut her eyes – which was as good as saying that our conversation was closed. For this I was sorry – if for no other reason than because I had not yet ventured to accept her invitation to use her Christian name. Still, I comforted myself with the thought that, when she got out at Swindon, to mumble “Good night, Audrey,” ought to be easy enough, and settling myself in my corner, began to review the events of the last few hours.

But Nature loses no chances…

In point of fact, I suppose I was very tired. Be that as it may, the next thing that I remember was Carson’s voice in my ear, announcing that in five minutes’ time we should run into Stroud. And there was Mansel smiling and Chandos cleaning a pipe, while Audrey’s corner was empty, as though she had never been there.

I shall always remember gratefully my time with Howson and Dewlap, short though it was. Everyone in that office was kindness itself. The work, of course, was nothing: it was the post. I made such a glorious cock-shy…yet nobody threw any sticks. The grave-faced Mr Bonner, the junior clerks, the busy typists, the cheerful switch-board girl – one end all were as sympathetic as people could be. Mr Banner gave me papers ‘which he thought I might like to read’: the clerks told me where to lunch and related the manners and customs which Howson and Dewlap kept; the typists brought me tea; and Miss Taylor, the switchboard girl, who did my duty when I went out to lunch, watched over me like the angel I think she was. With the partners, of course, I had little or nothing to do: and for this I was truly thankful, for Lacey had shown me great kindness in taking me on, and since, when I left his service, I might have to do so without any notice at all, I had no wish to enter more deeply into his debt. If sometimes my hours seemed long, my duties were very light, and since to sit and do nothing was more than I could endure, I made one or two innovations, for which my successors have probably cursed my soul. They are not worth setting down, but Mr Bonner approved them with all his might, and to my confusion my wages were raised that week – a kindness which hit me harder than any rebuke could have done. I like to think that the measure I gave was good; but sailing under false colours is not the sort of progress that one can ever enjoy, and when your consorts go out of their way to be nice, the burden they lay upon you is heavy to bear. At night I slunk to the club, where the deference shown me by the servants made me feel ill at ease; and when I went back to my rooms, to find my things in order and comfort ready and waiting for my return, I felt ashamed of the role I was playing in Sermon Square. However, there was nothing to be done. Till Fate or Mansel released me, the game must go on. With twelve thousand pounds behind me, I must continue to pose as a ‘down-and-out’ and, as such, to accept a goodwill which many an honest beggar has never known.

Now I had fully expected that a very short time would elapse before I renewed my acquaintance with the man I had seen at his table that startling Saturday night: indeed, my only concern was lest the signal I gave should seem to Rowley to indicate somebody else; but this anxiety was wasted, for day after day went by, yet I never set eyes on my man.

Expectation gave way to hope, and hope to doubt. I lingered before shop-windows; I went for a stroll after lunch; I left my umbrella behind – and so had a good excuse for retracing my steps. But all these endeavours were vain, and though my hand was itching to give the sign, the sign was never given and Rowley had nothing to do but go empty away.

I never rang up Audrey, because I received no letters and I had no news to report; and she never rang me up, because, I suppose, she had no instructions to give. This suspension of our relation was something I had not foreseen, and I longed that something would happen, if only because in that case I should hear her most excellent voice. Indeed, as the days went by, I could hardly resist the temptation to ring her up, but I knew that if I did so without just cause, I should lose what credit I had with that very exacting girl. The loss would not be great, because, as a matter of fact, I had none to lose; but at least I had a clean sheet, and I did not want an entry upon the opposite side.

So sixteen days went by: and May came in in splendour, and the green of the churchyard trees was a sight for sore eyes.

It was on a Tuesday evening, the tenth of May, that I entered the club, as usual, at twenty-five minutes past six. As usual, I washed my hands and made my way to the elegant smoking-room: as usual, I ordered a drink and, as usual, I read the papers from end to end. But either because I was restless, or else because the papers had little to tell, I found myself at seven with nothing on earth to do. I had no letters to write – and if I had, I should not have cared to write them from that address. I had no book to read, for though there were some shelves in the morning room, they were laden with dry-as-dust volumes whose names were enough to frighten a pedant away; but since they were bound in calf, they made a brave show, and I fancy they had been purchased to serve as furniture.

For a while I struggled with a crossword – of course in vain: and then I remembered the volumes of
Punch
I had marked when the page who had shown me the house had led me into the silent billiard-room.

At once I knew I was saved – that night and for weeks to come, for there had been a set at Peerless and always, after hunting, it had been my great delight to stroll down its gallery of humour and study the spirit and manners of other days.

As thankful as any prisoner released from jail, I mounted the lovely staircase two steps at a time, to pause at the billiard-room door and honour the time-honoured order
Wait for the Stroke
. More as a matter of form than anything else, I peered through the little peephole which gave me a chance to obey, for I did not suppose that the table would be in use. But there I was wrong, for a game was indeed in progress and one of the players was, if I may borrow the phrase, addressing his ball.

I saw him well, for while the room was in shadow, his kindly face was flood-lit by the table’s lamps: in fact I could see him much better than when I had seen him last.

So once more, though he never knew it, my eyes were fixed on Barabbas’
chargé d’affaires
.

The encounter was so unexpected that I stood for a moment or two as though turned into stone, but when I perceived how narrow had been my escape, my knees felt weak and the palms of my hands grew wet.

Had his opponent been playing and he standing back, I should have walked into the room when the stroke had been made. He would have looked round, of course, and our eyes would have met…and that, I believe, would have been the end of this tale, for the start which I must have given would have made a simpleton stare.