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‘Very rough luck on – er – Bingo,’ said George, mastering his embarrassment at calling a real live duke by a nickname.
‘Not at all,’ said Mary Montresor. ‘It will be good for Bingo if anything could do him good – which I doubt.’
George made another discovery – again aided by a convenient poster.
‘Why, of course, it’s cup day at Ascot. I should have thought that was the one place you were simply bound to be today.’
Mary Montresor sighed.
‘I wanted a holiday,’ she said plaintively.
‘Why, so did I,’ said George, delighted. ‘And as a result my uncle has kicked me out to starve.’
‘Then in case we marry,’ said Mary, ‘my twenty thousand a year may come in useful?’
‘It will certainly provide us with a few home comforts,’ said George.
‘Talking of homes,’ said Mary, ‘let’s go in the country and find a home we would like to live in.’
It seemed a simple and charming plan. They negotiated Putney Bridge, reached the Kingston by-pass and with a sigh of satisfaction Mary pressed her foot down on the accelerator. They got into the country very quickly. It was half an hour later that with a sudden exclamation Mary shot out a dramatic hand and pointed.
On the brow of a hill in front of them there nestled a house of what house-agents describe (but seldom truthfully) as ‘old-world’ charm. Imagine the description of most houses in the country really come true for once, and you get an idea of this house.
Mary drew up outside a white gate.
‘We’ll leave the car and go up and look at it. It’s our house!’
‘Decidedly, it’s our house,’ agreed George. ‘But just for the moment other people seem to be living in it.’
Mary dismissed the other people with a wave of her hand. They walked up the winding drive together. The house appeared even more desirable at close quarters.
‘We’ll go and peep in at all the windows,’ said Mary.
George demurred.
‘Do you think the other people –?’
‘I shan’t consider them. It’s our house – they’re only living in it by a sort of accident. Besides, it’s a lovely day and they’re sure to be out. And if anyone does catch us, I shall say – I shall say – that I thought it was Mrs – Mrs Pardonstenger’s house, and that I am so sorry I made a mistake.’
‘Well, that ought to be safe enough,’ said George reflectively.
They looked in through windows. The house was delightfully furnished. They had just got to the study when footsteps crunched on the gravel behind them and they turned to face a most irreproachable butler.
‘Oh!’ said Mary. And then putting on her most enchanting smile, she said, ‘Is Mrs Pardonstenger in? I was looking to see if she was in the study.’
‘Mrs Pardonstenger is at home, madam,’ said the butler. ‘Will you come this way, please.’
They did the only thing they could. They followed him. George was calculating what the odds against this happening could possibly be. With a name like Pardonstenger he came to the conclusion it was about one in twenty thousand. His companion whispered, ‘Leave it to me. It will be all right.’
George was only too pleased to leave it to her. The situation, he considered, called for feminine finesse.
They were shown into a drawing-room. No sooner had the butler left the room than the door almost immediately reopened and a big florid lady with peroxide hair came in expectantly.
Mary Montresor made a movement towards her, then paused in well-simulated surprise.
‘Why!’ she exclaimed. ‘It isn’t Amy! What an extraordinary thing!’
‘It is an extraordinary thing,’ said a grim voice.
A man had entered behind Mrs Pardonstenger, an enormous man with a bulldog face and a sinister frown. George thought he had never seen such an unpleasant brute. The man closed the door and stood with his back against it.
‘A very extraordinary thing,’ he repeated sneeringly. ‘But I fancy we understand your little game!’ He suddenly produced what seemed an outsize in revolvers. ‘Hands up. Hands up, I say. Frisk ’em, Bella.’
George in reading detective stories had often wondered what it meant to be frisked. Now he knew. Bella (alias Mrs P.) satisfied herself that neither he nor Mary concealed any lethal weapons on their persons.
‘Thought you were mighty clever, didn’t you?’ sneered the man. ‘Coming here like this and playing the innocents. You’ve made a mistake this time – a bad mistake. In fact, I very much doubt whether your friends and relations will ever see you again. Ah! you would, would you?’ as George made a movement. ‘None of your games. I’d shoot you as soon as look at you.’
‘Be careful, George,’ quavered Mary.
‘I shall,’ said George with feeling. ‘Very careful.’
‘And now march,’ said the man. ‘Open the door, Bella. Keep your hands above your heads, you two. The lady first – that’s right. I’ll come behind you both. Across the hall. Upstairs . . .’
They obeyed. What else could they do? Mary mounted the stairs, her hands held high. George followed. Behind them came the huge ruffian, revolver in hand.
Mary reached the top of the staircase and turned the corner. At the same moment, without the least warning, George lunged out in a fierce backward kick. He caught the man full in the middle and he capsized backwards down the stairs. In a moment George had turned and leaped down after him, kneeling on his chest. With his right hand, he picked up the revolver which had fallen from the other’s hand as he fell.
Bella gave a scream and retreated through a baize door. Mary came running down the stairs, her face as white as paper.
‘George, you haven’t killed him?’
The man was lying absolutely still. George bent over him.
‘I don’t think I’ve killed him,’ he said regretfully. ‘But he’s certainly taken the count all right.’
‘Thank God.’ She was breathing rapidly. ‘Pretty neat,’ said George with permissible self-admiration. ‘Many a lesson to be learnt from a jolly old mule. Eh, what?’
Mary pulled at his hand.
‘Come away,’ she cried feverishly. ‘Come away quick.’
‘If we had something to tie this fellow up with,’ said George, intent on his own plans. ‘I suppose you couldn’t find a bit of rope or cord anywhere?’
‘No, I couldn’t,’ said Mary. ‘And come away, please – please – I’m so frightened.’
‘You needn’t be frightened,’ said George with manly arrogance. ‘I’m here.’
‘Darling George, please – for my sake. I don’t want to be mixed up in this. Please let’s go.’
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sp; The exquisite way in which she breathed the words ‘for my sake’ shook George’s resolution. He allowed himself to be led forth from the house and hurried down the drive to the waiting car. Mary said faintly: ‘You drive. I don’t feel I can.’ George took command of the wheel.
‘But we’ve got to see this thing through,’ he said. ‘Heaven knows what blackguardism that nasty looking fellow is up to. I won’t bring the police into it if you don’t want me to – but I’ll have a try on my own. I ought to be able to get on their track all right.’
‘No, George, I don’t want you to.’
‘We have a first-class adventure like this, and you want me to back out of it? Not on my life.’
‘I’d no idea you were so bloodthirsty,’ said Mary tearfully.
‘I’m not bloodthirsty. I didn’t begin it. The damned cheek of the fellow – threatening us with an outsize revolver. By the way – why on earth didn’t that revolver go off when I kicked him downstairs?’
He stopped the car and fished the revolver out of the side-pocket of the car where he had placed it. After examining it, he whistled.
‘Well, I’m damned! The thing isn’t loaded. If I’d known that –’ He paused, wrapped in thought. ‘Mary, this is a very curious business.’
‘I know it is. That’s why I’m begging you to leave it alone.’
‘Never,’ said George firmly.
Mary uttered a heartrending sigh.
‘I see,’ she said, ‘that I shall have to tell you. And the worst of it is that I haven’t the least idea how you’ll take it.’
‘What do you mean – tell me?’
‘You see, it’s like this.’ She paused. ‘I feel girls should stick together nowadays – they should insist on knowing something about the men they meet.’
‘Well?’ said George, utterly fogged.
‘And the most important thing to a girl is how a man will behave in an emergency – has he got presence of mind – courage – quick wittedness? That’s the kind of thing you can hardly ever know – until it’s too late. An emergency mightn’t arise until you’d been married for years. All you do know about a man is how he dances and if he’s good at getting taxis on a wet night.’
