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‘Both very useful accomplishments,’ George pointed out.
‘Yes, but one wants to feel a man is a man.’
‘The great wide-open spaces where men are men.’ George quoted absently.
‘Exactly. But we have no wide-open spaces in England. So one has to create a situation artificially. That’s what I did.’
‘Do you mean –?’
‘I do mean. That house, as it happens, actually is my house. We came to it by design – not by chance. And the man – that man that you nearly killed –’
‘Yes?’
‘He’s Rube Wallace – the film actor. He does prize-fighters, you know. The dearest and gentlest of men. I engaged him. Bella’s his wife. That’s why I was so terrified that you’d killed him. Of course the revolver wasn’t loaded. It’s a stage property. Oh, George, are you very angry?’
‘Am I the first person you have – er – tried this test on?’
‘Oh, no. There have been – let me see – nine and a half!’
‘Who was the half?’ inquired George with curiosity.
‘Bingo,’ replied Mary coldly.
‘Did any of them think of kicking like a mule?’
‘No – they didn’t. Some tried to bluster and some gave in at once, but they all allowed themselves to be marched upstairs and tied up, and gagged. Then, of course, I managed to work myself loose from my bonds – like in books – and I freed them and we got away – finding the house empty.’
‘And nobody thought of the mule trick or anything like it?’
‘No.’
‘In that case,’ said George graciously, ‘I forgive you.’
‘Thank you, George,’ said Mary meekly.
‘In fact,’ said George, ‘the only question that arises is: where do we go now? I’m not sure if it’s Lambeth Palace or Doctor’s Commons, wherever that is.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The licence. A special licence, I think, is indicated. You’re too fond of getting engaged to one man and then immediately asking another one to marry you.’
‘I didn’t ask you to marry me!’
‘You did. At Hyde Park Corner. Not a place I should choose for a proposal myself, but everyone has their idiosyncrasies in these matters.’
‘I did nothing of the kind. I just asked, as a joke, whether you would care to marry me? It wasn’t intended seriously.’
‘If I were to take counsel’s opinion, I am sure that he would say it constituted a genuine proposal. Besides, you know you want to marry me.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Not after nine and a half failures? Fancy what a feeling of security it will give you to go through life with a man who can extricate you from any dangerous situation.’
Mary appeared to weaken slightly at this telling argument. But she said firmly: ‘I wouldn’t marry any man unless he went on his knees to me.’
George looked at her. She was adorable. But George had other characteristics of the mule beside its kick. He said with equal firmness:
‘To go on one’s knees to any woman is degrading. I will not do it.’
Mary said with enchanting wistfulness: ‘What a pity.’
They drove back to London. George was stern and silent. Mary’s face was hidden by the brim of her hat. As they passed Hyde Park Corner, she murmured softly:
‘Couldn’t you go on your knees to me?’
George said firmly: ‘No.’
He felt he was being a superman. She admired him for his attitude. But unluckily he suspected her of mulish tendencies herself. He drew up suddenly.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
He jumped out of the car, retraced his steps to a fruit barrow they had just passed and returned so quickly that the policeman who was bearing down upon them to ask what they meant by it, had not had time to arrive.
George drove on, lightly tossing an apple into Mary’s lap. ‘Eat more fruit,’ he said. ‘Also symbolical.’
‘Symbolical?’
‘Yes. Originally Eve gave Adam an apple. Nowadays Adam gives Eve one. See?’
‘Yes,’ said Mary rather doubtfully.
‘Where shall I drive you?’ inquired George formally. ‘Home, please.’
He drove to Grosvenor Square. His face was absolutely impassive. He jumped out and came round to help her out. She made a last appeal.
‘Darling George – couldn’t you? Just to please me?’
‘Never,’ said George.
And at that moment it happened. He slipped, tried to recover his balance and failed. He was kneeling in the mud before her. Mary gave a squeal of joy and clapped her hands.
‘Darling George! Now I will marry you. You can go straight to Lambeth Palace and fix up with the Archbishop of Canterbury about it.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ said George hotly. ‘It was a bl – er – a banana skin.’ He held the offender up reproachfully.
‘Never mind,’ said Mary. ‘It happened. When we quarrel and you throw it in my teeth that I proposed to you, I can retort that you had to go on your knees to me before I would marry you. And all because of that blessed banana skin! It was a blessed banana skin you were going to say?’
‘Something of the sort,’ said George.
At five-thirty that afternoon, Mr Leadbetter was informed that his nephew had called and would like to see him.
‘Called to eat humble pie,’ said Mr Leadbetter to himself. ‘I dare say I was rather hard on the lad, but it was for his own good.’
And he gave orders that George should be admitted.
George came in airily.
‘I want a few words with you, uncle,’ he said. ‘You did me a grave injustice this morning. I should like to know whether, at my age, you could have gone out into the street, disowned by your relatives, and between the hours of eleven-fifteen and five-thirty acquire an income of twenty thousand a year. This is what I have done!’
‘You’re mad, boy.’
‘Not mad, resourceful! I am going to marry a young, rich, beautiful society girl. One, moreover, who is throwing over a duke for my sake.’
‘Marrying a girl for her money? I’d not have thought it of you.’
‘And you’d have been right. I would never have dared to ask her if she hadn’t – very fortunately – asked me. She retracted afterwards, but I made her change her mind. And do you know, uncle, how all this was done? By a judicious expenditure of twopence and a grasping of the golden ball of opportunity.’
‘Why the tuppence?’ asked Mr Leadbetter, financially interested.
‘One banana – off a barrow. Not everyone would have thought of that banana. Where do you get a marriage licence? Is it Doctor’s Commons or Lambeth Palace?’
Chapter 31
Accident
‘Accident’ was first published as ‘The Uncrossed Path’ in The Sunday Dispatch, 22 September 1929.
‘. . . And I tell you this – it’s the same woman – not a doubt of it!’
Captain Haydock looked into the eager, vehement face of his friend and sighed. He wished Evans would not be so positive and so jubilant. In the course of a career spent at sea, the old sea captain had learned to leave things that did not concern him well alone. His friend, Evans, late C.I.D. Inspector, had a different philosophy of life. ‘Acting on information received –’ had been his motto in early days, and he had improved upon it to the extent of finding out his own information. Inspector Evans had been a very smart, wide-awake officer, and had justly earned the promotion which had been his. Even now, when he had retired from the force, and had settled down in the country cottage of his dreams, his professional instinct was still active.
‘Don’t often forget a face,’ he reiterated complacently. ‘Mrs Anthony – yes, it’s Mrs Anthony right enough. When you said Mrs Merrowdene – I knew her at once.’
Captain Haydock stirred uneasily. The Merrowdenes were his nearest neighbours, barring Evans himself, and this identifying of Mrs Merrowdene with a former heroine of a caus
e célèbre distressed him.
‘It’s a long time ago,’ he said rather weakly. ‘Nine years,’ said Evans, accurately as ever. ‘Nine years and three months. You remember the case?’
