To him, it seemed that the day was lost and that it would be futile to struggle further. He was experiencing all the complex emotions of a man who finds himself in a cleft stick, and he was at a loss to account for his loved one's apparent confidence. However, he had so often found her equal to situations by which he himself was baffled that he eyed her now with a certain faint hope.
"I'll tell you what's to stop you," said Dolly, once more showing herself worthy of a husband's trust. "That straw-headed gazook that's got it in for you. He'll be the first thing you bump up against when you breeze into the joint, and then what? He'll immediately start chewing your ugly little head off at the roots, same as he was planning to do before."
Chimp's jaw fell. His moustache drooped limply. He had completely overlooked this obstacle.
"Pers'n'lly and speaking for myself," proceeded Dolly, "I hope you will come down to the place, doing a buck and wing about being rich millionaires, because then everything'll be nice and simple for I and Soapy. All we'll have to do is buy a wreath and attend the funeral, and there we'll be, all set to start hunting for this ice without nobody interfering with us. Come along and join the party. There's good trains all through the day."
There was a silence. Chimp Twist was once more fingering his moustache, but nervously now, like a foiled baronet in an old-time melodrama. Mr. Molloy's eyes had lost their haggard look, and were alight with love and admiration. Dolly was touching up her lips with a lipstick.
"Remember yesterday in the garden, Soapy?" she said, "when we come on this bird by the pool? Remember how he stood there, sort of silhouetted against the evening sky, with all his muscles rippling like snakes?"
"Ah!"
"You thought he must be a prizefighter or sump'n."
"A wrestler."
"That's right, a wrestler. One of those all-in boys that get a hold on people and tear great chunks off of them with a flick of the wrist." Chimp Twist had heard enough.
"Well, what’s your proposition?" he asked sullenly, a beaten man.
"Fifty-fifty," said Dolly promptly.
"Okay by you?"
Mr. Twist, though not with enthusiasm, replied that it was okay by him, and presently Mr. and Mrs. Molloy took their leave, the latter all smiles and amiability, the former a little thoughtful.
"You were too easy with him, pettie," he said, as they made their way through the cabbage-scented court. "The way you'd gotten him by the short hairs, why ever didn't you gouge him for seventy?"
"Well, I'll be darned!"
"Oh, I'm not sore," Mr. Molloy hastened to add. "I think you were swell. It's just that the thought of splitting Even Stephen with that little buzzard sort of goes against my better nature."
"Well, for the love of Pete!" cried Mrs. Molloy, astounded. "You don't suppose he's going to get anything, do you? Where's your sense, honey? Once we get our hooks on the stuff, natch'ally we sim'ly pick it up and fade away. I just said fifty-fifty to keep him happy."
The cloud cleared from Mr. Molloy's Shakespearian brow. It seemed to him incredible that he could ever, even for an instant, have questioned the sagacity of this wonder-woman.
Board meetings take time, even if they run with far more smoothness than had been the case with the one at No. 3, Halsey Buildings, and the day was well advanced by the time Soapy and Dolly alighted at Shipley station. After the excitements of the morning, both were feeling pleasantly ready for the midday meal.
A quick dash in the station cab would just have enabled them to beat the Hall luncheon gong by a matter of minutes, but Soapy was not in favour of this. His, like Eustace Trumper's, had been from boyhood a healthy appetite, and his personal view of the Ugubus and their chosen bills of fare was that the latter were loathsome and the former weak in the head. He had little difficulty in persuading his wife that here was an admirable opportunity for avoiding Mrs. Cork's hospitality for once, and the hour of two found them seated in the coffee-room of the Stag and Antlers in Shipley High Street, squaring their elbows at a smoking dish of ham and eggs, with a second on order in the kitchen.
It was not for some little time that either felt in the vein for conversation. But when the first keen edge of hunger had been blunted, they began to talk, and their talk, as was natural in the circumstances, turned to the local cuckoo in the nest.
"We'd best attend to that straw-haired guy first thing, before we do anything else," said Dolly, replying to her husband's wistfully expressed hope that Jeff would choke on a forkful of spinach. "We can't do no constructive work till we've gotten him out of the place. Having him in our hair all the time would cramp our style."
"Ah," agreed Mr. Molloy, lowering ham into his interior with the air of a Senator laying a foundation stone. "But how do we get him out?"
"Easy. Tell the Cork dame he's a ringer."
"But won't she wonder why we didn't do that yesterday?"
"Why would we? He had us fooled yesterday with his story about having bought the business. We was completely took in. But after a while we thought it over and seen where it seemed kind of funny, so we went to London this morning and saw the real Sheringham Adair, who was shocked, horrified and surprised to learn that he was being impersonated. No holes in that?"
"Not a one."
"I'll get together with her as soon as we're back. I'd say, at a guess, that we'll be kissing this bird good-bye around three o'clock, standard time. Is that good? Or is it good?"
"Honey," began Mr. Molloy, and broke off abruptly. He had been about to pay the light of his life a marked tribute, but the second dish of ham and eggs had just appeared in the doorway. And when the maid had withdrawn, after setting it before him, the door opened again, to admit the very straw-haired guy of whom they had been speaking.
Jeff, always considerate, had lost no time in coming to the Stag and Antlers to procure sustenance for Lionel Green. Watching that elegant young man during the meal which had recently terminated in the dining-room of Shipley Hall, he had been greatly touched by the wanness of his aspect as he picked at his peas and carrots. The sight had left him feeling that now, and not after an interval of delay, was the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. He had never been fond of Lionel Green, and saw little prospect of being fond of him in the future, but there are moments when common humanity makes us sink our prejudices.
In his mind, it must be confessed, there was also the thought that, while at the Stag and Antlers, he might also procure a little sustenance for himself. His first luncheon as Mrs. Cork's guest had left him, like Mr. Molloy, marvelling at the tastes of the Ugubu tribe. These simple aborigines might, as his hostess had claimed for them, be the most perfect physical specimens in existence, but it was possible, he felt, to pay too high a price for mere muscle.
Having placed an order for a large consignment of beef sandwiches, he had strolled off to kill time while they were being prepared, and the rich smell of ham which percolated through its doorway led his wandering feet to the coffee-room.
His arrival was the signal for the coming into Mrs. Molloy's eyes of the battle light. It flared up like a beacon. Mr. Molloy, who was gazing at the ham like one who sees the Taj Mahal for the first time, did not immediately observe it. Only when his wife said "Hey!" did he perceive that she and he were no longer alone.
The ejaculation "Hey!" can never be made to sound anything but abrupt, and Mrs. Molloy had taken no pains to soften its brusqueness on the present occasion. The word had left her lips like a bullet, and it commanded Jeff's immediate attention.
It needed but a glance, as he approached the table, to tell him that Mrs. Molloy was in no friendly mood. There had been certain moments during their conversation of the previous evening when he had had this same feeling that they were not in sympathy, but he had supposed that he had overcome all mistrust on her part with his ready explanation of his presence. This, apparently, was not the case, for her eyes were gleaming with suspicion and hostility. And even if he had been unable to read the language of the eyes, her opening words w
ould have enlightened him.
"So here's Mister Smartie!" she said. "Mister Smartie himself in person!" And there was no possibility of mistaking the observation for a tribute. Nor, taken in conjunction with the set features and the glittering eyes, was it to be classified as genial banter. Dolly Molloy was an attractive woman, but there were times when she could look more like a cobra about to strike than most cobras do.
But if Jeff was startled, it was only for an instant. He was an intelligent young man, and it was borne in upon him immediately that something had gone wrong with the works. He braced himself to cope with this new development.
"Good afternoon," he said, with a genial smile. "So here you are. We missed you at lunch."
"Is that so?"
"It is, indeed. We were all wondering what had become of you."
"Oh? Well, I'll tell you, shall I?"
"Do."
"We were at J. Sheringham Adair's office, chewing the fat with J. Sheringham Adair. And when we told J. Sheringham Adair that there was a guy down here that claimed to have bought the business off of him, J. Sheringham Adair said 'What the hell?'"
"Strong words."
"'I never sold no business to nobody,' he said. So try that one on your pianola."
Jeff nodded. The circumstances being as she had outlined, he quite saw how she might wish him to try it on his pianola.
"I see," he said, thoughtfully. "I had been asking myself if something of the kind might not occur."
"Well, now you know the answer. It has. You'd best go and start packing."
"Packing?"
"So's to be good and ready to leave quick, when I've dished the dirt to Mrs. Cork."
"You wouldn't do that?"
"Wouldn't I? Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, you would be depriving yourself of a lively and entertaining companion, in a house where there seems to me, from what I have observed during my brief stay, to be rather a shortage of entertaining company. Think of being left with nobody to talk to except that bunch of stiffs up at the Corkeries?"
Mr. Molloy seemed to find his words lacking in tact.
" She's got me," he pointed out. Jeff considered the point.
"'Myes. Yes, she's got you, I suppose. Still---"
"Anyway," said Dolly, dismissing the subject, "I'll risk being bored. Don't you go worrying yourself about me, baby. I shall get along swell. I've only two things to say to you, my lad. One is 'Get the hell outa here,' and the other is 'Do it quick.'"
"But why this extraordinary eagerness to get rid of me? What harm am I doing you by being here?"
"That's a laugh, Soapy?"
"A big laugh, honey."
"I'll tell you why.” proceeded Mrs. Molloy. "We know all about that ice."
"Ice?"
"The diamonds." interpreted Dolly impatiently. "We're after them, same as you."
"What!"
"That's what."
"But they don't belong to you."
"They soon will."
"Egad! This sounds like dirty work."
"Call it what you like."
"Well, well, well!" said Jeff. "Well, well, well, well!"
He stood staring at them, his manner that of one from whose eyes the scales have fallen. Neither Dolly, who was returning his gaze unblinkingly, nor Mr. Molloy, who was getting along with the ham and eggs, had a twisted ear, let alone two; nevertheless, it was plain to him that he was standing in the presence of a brace of Napoleons of the Underworld, and he was a little piqued that he had not seen through their crust of respectability earlier. Inspector Purvis, the hero of his novels, would, he felt, have done it at their first meeting.
Dolly returned to what Mr. Shoesmith would have called the res.
"So out you get, Sonny Boy."
"You really intend to expose me to Mrs. Cork?"
"What's to hinder me?"
"Your kind heart, I would have said. Your sweet, gentle nature. But those don't seem to be functioning at the moment."
"No."
"So I suppose I shall have to fall back on the fact that, if you do, I on my side shall instantly tell her that I have seen you wolfing ham and eggs in this wayside inn. You know her rigid views. We shall be able to travel up to London together."
It was a telling shot. For an instant, Dolly had nothing to say. Mr. Molloy had, but as he was in the act of swallowing ham at the moment, only the concluding words were distinguishable.
"…deny it," said Mr. Molloy.
Dolly recovered herself. She shot a swift glance of approval at her helpmeet for the timely suggestion.
"That's right. We shall sim'ly and totally deny it. And it's likely Mrs. Cork will believe the word of a barefaced impostor."
"Ah, but it won't be merely the word of a barefaced impostor. There will also be that of a whiskered innkeeper. The proprietor of this caravanserai will support my story. He has already been warned by Mrs. Cork to serve no proteins to the members of her private loony-bin, and it is going to be a shocking blow to him to learn that a couple whom he mistook for bona fide travellers are in reality guests at the Hall. He is far too scared of our hostess to try any funny stuff on her. He will babble out the hideous facts."
Dolly looked at her husband, hoping for another bright suggestion, but -he had shot his bolt. From the expression on his fine face, it was evident that he had accepted defeat. And Dolly, though it cut her to the quick to do so, was obliged to accept it, too.
"You win," she said, briefly.
"Personally," said Jeff, "I would be inclined to call it a draw. We seem to be in the position of a bunch of the boys who, whooping it up at the Malemute Saloon, have all gone and got the drop on one another simultaneously. I can't expose you. You can't expose me. The only thing I can suggest is that we observe a mutual toleration and good will. And now I fear I must leave you. I have duties which call me elsewhere."
He had just remembered that the sandwiches must be about ready, and he had no desire to have them delivered to him in his present company.
He left behind him a thoughtful silence, which Mr. Molloy was the first to break.
"There's no getting away from it," said Mr. Molloy ruefully, but with a certain unwilling respect in his voice, "that that boy knows all the answers."
Mrs. Molloy writhed in anguish. Jeff had paused at the door to bestow upon them another of those genial smiles, and it had gashed her like a knife.
"I'm going to put it across that slicker," she said, speaking thickly in her emotion, "if it's the last thing I do."
"But how, pettie?" asked Mr. Molloy. He was one of those men who are always asking "How?"
"Don't you worry. I'll fix him."
Mr. Molloy started. He was a nervous man, and he knew his wife's impulsive nature. Once she embarked on an enterprise of the kind at which she was hinting, he feared lest the sky might be the limit.
"How do you mean, fix?"
"Just fix."
"You wouldn't croak him?"
Mrs. Molloy laughed merrily at the whimsical thought. She had quite recovered her spirits. "Don't be silly, sweetness."
"Well, mind you don't," urged Mr. Molloy, still apprehensive, and started to pick rather feverishly at an egg which he had overlooked.
CHAPTER XIII
Anne Benedick came out on to the terrace, and started to make her way slowly across the sunken garden beyond it. Her destination was the little pond where Jeff, a week earlier, had studied water beetles.
From childhood days, this had always been a favourite retreat of hers in moods of depression, and one of these had her in its grip now. It would be exaggerating to say that her heart was bowed down with weight of woe, but she had the feeling that the state of her relations with the man to whom she was engaged to be married was not one hundred per cent satisfactory, and that always tends to lower the spirits.
When she had learned that Lionel Green was arriving for a visit, Anne had been uplifted. She had looked forward to much delightful rambling at his side through the sha
dy walks and murmurous groves with which the ancient home of the Uffenhams was so well provided: and it had come as a shock to her to discover that he proposed during his stay to avoid her society altogether.
And though, when he had explained the motives which had led him to take this decision, she could see that they were based on good sense and prudence, she still felt that there was something a little ignoble in so rigorous a policy of Safety First. It blurred the picture she had formed of him as a king among men.
In addition to this, there was the matter of the stuffed antelope.
She was musing on these things, struggling to overcome a feeling of forlornness and disillusionment, when Jeff came curvetting through the garden on his way back from the station. He had spent the morning and the earlier part of the afternoon in London.
Several reasons had taken him to London to-day. In the first place, it had suddenly occurred to him, talking it over with his conscience, that a written apology to J. Sheringham Adair, sent round to his office by district messenger boy, would amply compensate for his omission to tender verbal regrets. It would also be considerably easier to compose than one thrown together on the spur of the moment under the man's personal, and probably incandescent, eye. The great objection to apologizing face to face with a fellow human being whom you have knocked cock-eyed with a rock cake is that unavoidable sense of gene and embarrassment in the early stages.
He also wanted to buy a copy of that book of Mrs. Cork's, A Woman In The Wilds, to which Lord Uffenham had alluded, for it seemed to him a useful thing to have by one in case of emergencies. A large box of chocolates for Anne was another purchase he had in mind. And, finally, there was the matter of accident insurance.
It was a few days after his chat with Mr. and Mrs. Molloy at the Stag and Antlers that Jeff's thoughts had first turned in the direction of accident insurance. What had supplied the impulse was the falling within a foot of his head of a handsome ormolu clock, as he stood smoking a cigarette in the ball, waiting for Anne to come and join him in a saunter round the grounds. It brought home to him the fact that, now that there existed open warfare between himself and so spirited and resourceful an antagonist as Mrs. Molloy, his position had become one of considerable delicacy.
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