Keep It Quiet

by Richard Hull

  On the whole, Ford decided that it probably was not the sarcastic brute sitting on his left hand. With a mental reservation to keep him in mind nevertheless, he forced his attention back to his neighbour’s conversation. Apparently, he had given so easy an opening that Pargiter considered it beneath his dignity to take the obvious chance.

  ‘Indigestion, eh?’ With a wave of his hand he implied how right in poetic justice it was that the secretary should suffer from his own maladministration. He remembered that his query as to vegetables remained unanswered. The list of those immediately available was recited to him. He shuddered realistically when he heard that mashed turnips were included. ‘Really? Are there no swedes? Or mangel-wurzels?’

  Another thought had occurred to Ford. Why had Pargiter sat next to him? He fancied it was not his usual table. Had he then come in order to drop his hint? Or just to make the secretary uncomfortable? Ford was quite aware of Pargiter’s sentiments towards him and his position. Really either reason, he decided, might be right. He looked across to where Pargiter usually sat and saw a young newly elected member sitting there, blissfully unconscious that he had pushed his way to where he should not have been, and that he would not have been allowed to go there if the head waiter had not thought that as Pargiter was a little late, he was not coming.

  Certainly the reason of his neighbour’s remark on the subject of ‘very unpleasant young members’ was explained. But was that all?

  Ford felt quite unable to eat any more. He left the coffee-room and went down the staircase. At the foot of it he found Cardonnel studying the menu. Apparently the lawyer was in a good humour. His eyes twinkled pleasantly behind the pince-nez which insecurely straddled his long thin nose.

  ‘Ah, Ford, been dining? Hope you enjoyed it. Any sherry beforehand?’ He laughed to show that he did not really mean to be unkind. ‘On the whole, I must congratulate you on the dinner tonight. More variation in it. So easy to get into a rut in a place like this.’

  He went up the stairs slowly, leaving the secretary gasping. Ford picked up the menu of the set Club dinner and read it through again and again. For the life of him he could see nothing unusual in it – except perhaps the whiting.

  ‘The trouble is,’ he said to himself, ‘that I’m beginning to imagine things. I’m getting whiting on the brain. The times are out of joint. Ah! cursed spite …’

  It may however be doubted whether Ford was exactly born to set things right.

  8

  Twelve Points

  Fortunately for his sanity, Ford was only to hear twice more of fried curled whiting before, as a worry, it sank into the background and was obliterated by the greater troubles that were to follow.

  If there was one thing of which Ford at first felt certain, it was that his taskmaster would have come in to the Club during that Thursday to look at least at the menu, and see that his orders were being obeyed. It would have been easier, simply because it would have shortened the list, if he could have thought it certain that the man would have dined there, but Ford did not feel that that was an assumption he could make. However, if he got a list of all those who were in the Club on that day, he would at least have eliminated those who had not been in; and if he were to continue getting a daily list of those who had come in, he would be able to eliminate more and more whenever a similar incident occurred. Ultimately he might even be able to pin it down to the one man.

  The Whitehall Club, fortunately for him, had a slightly expensive habit that made the preparation of such a list possible. At the beginning of each year a large sheet was prepared containing the names of all the members in alphabetical order. This was printed and the copies made into a loose-leaf block so that the hall porter should have available one list for each day of the year on which he could quickly and readily, and, it was hoped, accurately, mark each member as he arrived or left, so that if anyone enquired if a particular member was in, or anyone was rung up on the telephone, the hall porter could instantly say whether the member was in the Club or not. It was the hall porter’s pride that he knew all the thousand or so members by sight, and could put a name even to those country members who only came to London once a year. He also boasted that he never failed to mark in any of the stream of those who flowed in rapidly at lunch time.

  The preparation of a daily list then would be perfectly possible. Indeed Ford could have done it himself, except that he disliked personal energy, and to make someone else do it he considered required some explanation. One of the reasons why Ford could not manage men was that he always found it necessary to explain his motives to his subordinates.

  But chance again came to his aid. It is one of the mysteries of club life that almost every club periodically has at least one fantastic member who systematically steals the books from the circulating library. The books from the permanent library go less often, a fact attributed by the cynical solely to the fact that there is nothing really desirable. Even so the story is told of one well-known club that found its volumes of the new edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica disappearing gradually in irregular order, and to the hero of that theft a universal though grudging admiration had to be given.

  In the Whitehall Club this theft had recently been peculiarly virulent. For many years the thief, or thieves, had been content with detective stories – an odd taste perhaps, but one which only cost the Club seven and six a time. When multiplied by fifty – one a week was the average – that was a sufficiently large sum to drive the honest members into a state of fury bordering on frenzy, but when the thief changed his literary tastes and started on expensive volumes of memoirs and travel books, it was generally felt that Something had to be Done about it; only nobody knew what. Of course Ford had no practical suggestions to offer. He seldom had.

  But at least it gave a grand excuse for requiring a nominal roll of those in the Club each day.

  On the Friday, however, he had somewhat of a shock. He was descending the staircase after tea when he heard Laming’s birdlike voice.

  ‘Brill Choisy. I really must talk to Ford. Halibut, dory, brill – round and round – all unfit human consumption.’

  ‘Come, come, Laming. It’s not as bad as that. And anyhow, you’re the chairman of the Committee.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe. Not got power over everything, though. Always is one of those, or lemon sole. Pity Ford doesn’t like fish. Might see to it otherwise.’

  ‘Really, I think you’re a bit hard.’

  ‘Well, what was there last night? You were dining here. I wasn’t.’

  ‘Let me see. Herrings, I think, and – yes, whiting.’

  ‘Oh, cheap fish all the time though, you see. All for economy. Must be economical, I know. But all the same–’

  The other member laughed.

  ‘I could not help laughing at one bit of economy last night. So as to save having to give each of us a whole whiting, we had filleted scraps of whiting.’

  Ford could hear Laming shuffle.

  ‘Really, really. Most extraordinary. You’re quite sure? Fillets, eh? Most odd. Food’s going down. Shall have to exert myself. Won’t do.’

  He turned away from the menu so that he faced the stairs. Ford pretended that he was just coming down. If anyone who came in on Friday could enquire so easily about Thursday’s menu – well, what was the use of his carefully prepared list? He had not thought of that before. And why was Laming so interested? Was there anything sinister in the phrase ‘exert himself’? Ford pulled himself together and tried to remember the price of salmon, mullet, trout and other such things. There was no denying it. It had been a nasty shock.

  Late that evening the whiting was mentioned for the last time.

  It was with a feeling of slight nausea that Ford recognised the typing on the envelope. He looked at the envelope to see if the postmark gave him any help. As he suspected, the letter had been posted in the same district as the Club.

  Once more the writer came straight to the point.

  I appreciate the fillets. On t
he whole I had not thought you capable of such subtlety. You will obey – more or less, will you? Oh, no, my friend! You will obey. However, for the moment we will let it stand at that.

  It has been great fun, by the way, watching you the last few days. That haunted expression whenever ‘whiting’ was mentioned, that leap in the air on the word ‘fillet’, the deep blush with which you received the word ‘curled’ – I only wish I could have stayed with you all day and watched your reaction to each occasion. But of course I had to limit my joy. Still, I managed to look at you sufficiently often to enjoy myself and, for the rest, I sat back in one of the less uncomfortable arm-chairs in – I will not tell you what part of the Club – and enjoyed myself. You poor little worm; it is superb to see you wriggle!

  But you have been very wrong about one thing – you have not told that hard-faced doctor; at least I do not think you have. I have seen no signs of his wriggling, and that is a sight I am going to enjoy more than any. You are poor game, but Anstruther, I fancy, is a quarry worth hunting. As time goes on I shall make him do some very odd things. So see him soon.

  And now to start putting the Club to rights.

  First of all you will abolish those tea-trays; old, battered, noisy bits of tin, unfit even to sit on and use for sliding down hills. Those will go – gradually if you like, but you must make a start at once. Also those dreadful glass bottles with dirty white metal tops, in which you put the salt, will be abolished. Woolworth’s would refuse to sell anything so tawdry; and while you are about it you might see that the tea is not so strong as to be impossible to drink. Then, do not be so stingy with the butter. There’s a note in the suggestion book ‘That the muffins for tea be buttered’. Just bear that in mind.

  Ford put down the letter and snorted with rage.

  ‘Well, aren’t they? Not buttered, indeed! If I only knew who this brute was I’d butter his muffin all right for him. With the very best perchloride of mercury!’

  He resumed reading the offensive typescript.

  Now, in case you think you know your job, you shall now have a list of twelve simple little things that an efficient secretary would put right without having to be told – far less forced.

  1. The strips of news from the tape machine will be put up in the right order.

  2. Look at the billiards balls. One of them is a perfect cube, unspoilt by any curves.

  3. There are calendars which show just the date and the month. Why not have the right date always – instead of just sometimes.

  4. The clock in the smoking-room is generally two minutes fast – a fault on the right side, perhaps, but still a fault.

  5. Have you ever tried to work out which switch turns on which light in the libraries? Why not connect them on some coherent plan.

  6. I happen to know that one of the bishops who is a member was translated to another see ten days ago. Why not correct the list of members? For that matter the list in the card-room does not show that Morrison is dead – and you do know all about that, or nearly all. You might also cease to state that somebody called James was elected in 1997.

  7. Incredible though it may seem, there are still goose quill pens to be found in the Club. Have you ever listened to one being used? The squeak which they make on paper is bound to set everyone’s nerves on edge. You will have these removed. It may annoy Pargiter – he uses them to irritate other people – but I cannot help that.

  8. There should be a flag flown from the Club house on certain public occasions – His Majesty’s birthday, and so on. A proper list should be drawn up and adhered to.

  9. You will devise some reasonably efficient system whereby books taken out from the library are returned to their proper shelves. It is useless to expect the members to do it. No doubt they should, but they don’t and they won’t. The result is chaos.

  10. You know those bronze ash-tray bowls for cigarette ends? They are supposed to contain water. Please see that they do. Otherwise cigarettes are left to burn, and when they have called attention to themselves by a most offensive smell, it is quite difficult to get at them to put them out. One of the bowls leaks. Have it mended, or, if this is impossible, removed.

  11. The bell on the left-hand side of the fireplace in the card-room has not rung for two years. Have it put right.

  12. Finally, reorganise your sub-committees. The Card Committee never come into the card-room. The Squash Committee do not play Squash, nor the Billiards Committee billiards. It is believed the Cigar Committee do not smoke, and anyhow never meet. The Wine Committee alone is carefully chosen. In other words stop drifting.

  Now I know you will tell me that many of these things are not your duty. Perhaps; but it is your duty to see that they are done. Nos. 2, 5, 6, 7, and 11 you will see to at once. You will give the necessary instructions as to Nos. 1, 3, 4, and 10. As to Nos. 8 and 9, you will start getting your organisation together. No. 12 will, I know, take time.

  So much, then, for the preliminary details. I think I have written enough to prove to you your own incompetence. We will turn to more important matters later.

  I shall expect to see much of this done at once, and the carrying out of my orders will be the best proof to me that you are being sensible, but as a further sign, you will sit on the settee in the smoking-room on the right of the notice of candidates proposed for election on Sunday from 1.45 to 2.0 p.m. If possible, you will get Anstruther to sit beside you.

  By the time Ford had finished the letter he was in danger of apoplexy. To be insulted in this way was bad, but to be insulted without any chance of answering back was intolerable. It was the calm assumption that all these things were wrong that was so infuriating. He lit a cigarette in the hopes of calming himself, and puffed vigorously at it. None of these things was wrong! At least, he didn’t think so.

  Standing with his back to the fireplace he ticked them off.

  ‘Tape machine – I talked to the page-boys only recently. Bother, it’s a new boy. Billiards balls. Believe they’re all right. Calendars. Nonsense! Switches. I got a sub-committee to consider that once, but the General Committee vetoed the expense. Score to me!’

  He chucked his cigarette end into the brass container in front of him and considered the list more favourably. There was nothing that needed doing in all of it – at least, nothing serious. ‘Alteration to list – very well. Wonder which bishop, though? There are several. Quill pens. All right. Flag. That means preparing a list. I shall quietly forget that. Books. Quite impossible. Perhaps a notice asking people to assist? Useless of course, but it might fill the bill. Cigarette ends.’

  He glanced at the bronze bowl into which his own had been thrown. The next two minutes were spent in trying to stub it out with the end of a match. He folded the letter up and took the resolution that though perhaps there were some details that might be improved in the general high level of efficiency of his management, nevertheless, he would not be dictated to. By way of proving it, with unconscious irony, he sat down to write a letter.

  Dear Dr Anstruther [best to be a trifle formal].

  There is a slight repercussion arising from the unfortunate circumstances of Morrison’s death, which I think it is important I should talk over with you.

  I must apologise for troubling a busy man, but the call of duty, you know! I wonder if you happen to be lunching in the Club on Sunday? I believe you often do. If so you will find me in the smoking-room – about a quarter to two.

  Curiously enough, as you will see, the time is relevant.

  Yours sincerely,

  Leonard Ford.

  9

  On The Settee

  Clubland is comparatively empty on a Sunday. But if the population is small, it is extremely regular and frequently quite different from that which is there on a weekday. The arrival of Cardonnel, for instance, to lunch on Sunday would have created a small sensation of about the same dimensions as would have been caused by his absence on a weekday.

  With a sense of suppressed excitement Ford looked round th
e coffee-room. Anstruther was present, lunching as usual quietly behind a book, but the remaining half dozen members, Ford was certain, knew nothing, and cared less, as to Morrison’s fate. He could check the matter from his lists, but he believed that not one of them had been in the Club except on a Sunday for the past three weeks. So whoever it was who wanted to see that the secretary was sitting on the settee would have to show himself, and with the aid of those lists in Ford’s pocket, must become incredibly conspicuous.

  ‘Leonard, my boy, you’re in luck at last!’ the poor harassed man confided to the mint sauce. ‘They say every criminal makes one mistake, and now this fellow has made his. He’s chosen an incredibly stupid moment, and you’re bound to find out who he is. Then surely you ought to be able to think of something! Come to think of it, though, it’s odd the fellow should have selected such a very stupid time.’

  But if the coffee-room had been thinly populated, the smoking-room was completely deserted. Ford found himself sitting on the prescribed settee surveying an empty room, while slowly the hands of the clock ticked round to a quarter to two.

  A couple of minutes later Anstruther came in and glanced first at the clock and then at his watch.

  ‘Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. Clock seems to be fast.’

  To his annoyance Ford found that his own watch agreed with Anstruther’s. He had meant to speak to the man who wound and regulated the clocks about that particular one, but somehow it had slipped his memory. He was annoyed too to find that he had got slightly red in the face about it.

  ‘Time’s before us,’ he murmured tritely.