Uncle Dynamite (36 page)

‘Yes.’

‘Waggled
her about a bit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then
clasped her to your bosom and showered kisses on her upturned face?’

‘Yes.’

‘With
the results that might have been anticipated. I told you the Ickenham system
never fails. Brought up against it, the proudest beauty wilts and signs on the
dotted line. It saddens you a little now, no doubt, to think of all the years
you wasted on timid devotion.’

‘It
does, rather.’

‘Timid
devotion gets a lover nowhere. I was chatting with Miss Bean this morning, and
she was telling me that she had a good deal of trouble at one time with
Constable Potter owing to his devotion being so timid. She says that in the
early days of his courtship he used to walk her out and chew his moustache and
talk about the situation in
China
, but no real action. So one evening she said “Come on, my lad, get
on with it,” and he got on with it. And after that everything went like clockwork.’

‘Fine,’
said Bill absently. He had been thinking of Hermione. ‘Potter?’ he went on, his
mind returning from its flights. ‘That reminds me. You haven’t a bit of raw
steak on you, have you?’

Lord
Ickenham felt in his pockets.

‘Sorry,
no. I seem to have come out without any. Why? You feel peckish?’

‘Elsie
Bean was out here a moment ago, saying she was in the market for a bit of raw
steak. It’s needed for Potter. Apparently someone has been sloshing him in the
eye.’

‘Indeed?
Who?’

‘I didn’t
gather. Her story was confused. I seemed to catch some mention of Pongo, but
would Pongo punch policemen in the eye?’

‘It
seems unlikely.’

‘I must
have got the name wrong. Still, there it is. Someone has given Potter a shiner,
and he’s fed to the tonsils. You see, he got pushed into the duck pond this
afternoon, and now on top of that comes this biff in the eye, so he feels he’s
had enough of being a policeman. He’s chucking it up and buying a pub, Elsie
tells me. She seemed rather braced about it.’

Lord
Ickenham drew a deep, slow breath of contentment and satisfaction. He looked
pleased with himself, and who shall blame him? A man whose mission in life it
is to spread sweetness and light and to bring the young folk together may
surely be forgiven a touch of complacency when happy endings start going off
like crackers all round him and he sees the young folk coming together in
droves.

‘Great
news, Bill Oakshott,’ he said. ‘This is … what is that neat expression of
yours? Ah, yes, “fine!” … This is fine. You’re all right. Pongo’s all right.
And now the divine Bean is all right. It reminds one of the final spasm of a
musical comedy.’ He paused and regarded his companion with some surprise. ‘Are
you wearing woolly winter underclothing?’ he asked.

‘Me?
No. Why?’

‘You
keep wriggling, as though something were irritating the epidermis.’

Bill
blushed.

‘Well,
as a matter of fact,’ he confessed, ‘I’m finding it awfully difficult to keep
still. After what’s happened, I mean. You know how it is.’

‘I do,
indeed. I, too, have lived in
Arcady
. You would like to go for a long, rapid walk and work off steam? Of
course you would. Push off, then.’

‘You
don’t mind me leaving you?’

‘Well,
one hates to lose you, of course, but better a temporary separation than that
you should burst all over the terrace.
Au revoir,
then, and once more a
thousand congratulations.’

Bill
disappeared round the corner like a dog let off the chain, gathering momentum
with every stride. His pace was so good and his preoccupation so intense that
it was not until he was out in the open road a mile away that it suddenly came
to him that he had omitted to inform Lord Ickenham of the arrival of Major
Plank.

He
paused, debated within himself the advisability of going back, decided that it
was too late and walked on. And presently Lord Ickenham and Major Plank had faded
from his mind and he was thinking again exclusively in terms of wedding bells
and honeymoons.

As things turned out, it
would have been unnecessary for him to retrace his steps, for almost immediately
after his departure Major Plank came out of the house, wiping butter from his
lips.

‘Hullo,
Barmy,’ he said, sighting Lord Ickenham. ‘You’re too late for the muffins. I’ve
finished them. And very good they were, too.’ He replaced his handkerchief.
‘You’re surprised to see me here, aren’t you? Thought you’d baffled me, eh?
Well, what happened was that shortly after you left the pub that well-nourished
girl behind the bar told me the bonny baby contest was off. So along I came.’

Lord
Ickenham had given a slight start on seeing his old friend, but his voice, when
he spoke, was as calm and level as ever.

‘Off,
is it? Why?’

‘Outbreak
of measles. Thousands stricken.’

‘I see.
And have you exposed me?’

‘Exposed
you is right.’

‘Did
Mugsy seem interested?’

‘Most.’

‘One
sees how he might well be, of course. You’re a ruthless old bird, Bimbo.’

Major
Plank bridled.

‘Ruthless
be blowed. I merely took the necessary steps to protect my reputation. And what
do you mean, “Old bird”? I’m a year younger than you. My idea of an old bird is
Mugsy. I was shocked when I saw how he had aged. He looks like that chap in the
Bible, Methuselah, the fellow who lived to a thousand and ate grass.’

‘Methuselah
didn’t eat grass.’

‘Yes,
he did.’

‘He
never ate grass in his life. You’re thinking of Nebuchadnezzar.’

‘Oh, am
I? Well, the principle’s the same. And now I suppose you’ll be sliding off.
You’d have done better to start packing when I told you to. Still, you’re in
luck in one way. You won’t run into Mugsy. He’s in that room over there,
holding a court martial.’

‘A
what?’

‘Court
martial. There have been all sorts of stirring goings-on here. Just as I was
finishing the muffins, a policeman with a black eye barged into the
drawing-room with a tall, thin, light-haired young chap in one hand and a
dashed pretty girl in a red jacket in the other, and said that the girl had
pushed him into a duck pond and that when he was starting to apprehend her the
light-haired young chap had biffed him in the eye. And Mugsy has taken them
into that room there and is sitting on the case. I gather he’s a magistrate or
something and so is entitled to execute summary justice. I’m sorry for that
young couple. It looks like a sticky weekend for them.’

Lord
Ickenham gave his moustache a thoughtful twirl.

‘Leave
me, Bimbo,’ he said. ‘I would be alone.’

‘Why?’

‘I want
to ponder.’

‘Oh,
ponder? Right ho! I’ll go back and have some more strawberries,’ said Major
Plank.

He
returned to the drawing-room, and Lord Ickenham, left alone, lost no time in
giving himself up to that survey of ways and means which the other’s presence
had hindered. For some moments he paced up and down, his hands behind his back
and a concentrated look in his eye. The tautness of his features showed that
his agile brain was not sparing itself.

And
presently it was plain that it had given service. His face cleared. The lips
beneath the trim moustache curved in a contented smile.

He
crossed the terrace and went into the collection room.

Only Sir Aylmer was in the
collection room when he entered. He, too, was wearing a contented smile.

For the
first time that evening Sir Aylmer was feeling cheerful; as cheerful as a
Colosseum lion which after a trying day when everything has gone wrong has
found itself unexpectedly presented with a couple of Christian martyrs and has
been able to deal faithfully with them. There is nothing which so braces up a
chairman of a bench of magistrates in times of despondency as the infliction of
a sharp sentence on a pair of criminals. It would be too much to say that he regarded
Lord Ickenham amiably, but he did not bite him.

‘Ha,’
he said. ‘It’s you, is it?’

Lord
Ickenham preserved his suavity.

‘Ah,
Mugsy,’ he said. ‘I understand you’ve met Bimbo Plank. How did you think he was
looking? He thought you had aged. Where’s Sally?’

‘Who?’

‘Bimbo
told me she and my nephew Pongo were in here with you.’

Sir
Aylmer started.

‘You
know that girl?’

‘She is
my honorary niece.’

A warm
glow pervaded Sir Aylmer’s system, as if he had been taking Doctor Smythe’s
Tonic Swamp Juice. This was even better than he had hoped.

‘Oh, is
she?’ he said. ‘Then it may interest you to know that I’ve just given her
thirty days without the option, and your nephew the same. Potter’s locked them
up in the scullery while he has his eye bathed, and in a few minutes he’ll be
taking them off in custody.’

‘A
harsh sentence.’

‘The
only possible sentence. One of the most disgraceful cases that has ever come
before me. She pushed Potter into the duck pond.’

‘Well,
what does a policeman expect, if he deliberately goes and stands on the edge of
duck ponds? Girls will be girls.’

‘Not
while I’m sitting on the bench, they won’t.’

‘And
how about the quality of mercy? It isn’t strained, you know. It droppeth as the
gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.’

‘Damn
the quality of mercy.’

‘You’d
better not let Shakespeare hear you saying that. Then you won’t reconsider?’

‘No, I
won’t. And now we’ll discuss this matter of your coming here under a false
name.’

Lord
Ickenham nodded.

‘Yes, I
was hoping you would be able to spare me a minute to tell you about that. But
before I begin, I would like to have a witness present.’

Lord
Ickenham went to the door and called ‘Bimbo’, and Major Plank came out of the
drawing-room chewing strawberries.

‘Could
you come here a moment, Bimbo. I need you as a witness. I’m going to tell you a
story that will shock you.’

‘It
isn’t the one about the young man of
Calcutta
, is it? Because I’ve heard that.’ Lord Ickenham reassured him.

‘When I
said “shock”, I meant that the tale would revolt your moral sense rather than
bring the blush of shame to the cheek of modesty. Shall I begin at the
beginning?’

‘It
sounds a good idea.’

‘Very
well. There was an American girl named Vansittart who came to
London
and bought a number of trinkets in
Bond Street
, her plan being to take them
back to
America
and wear them.
All straight so far?’

‘Quite.’

‘What —
?‘ began Sir Aylmer, and Lord Ickenham gave him a stern look.

‘Mugsy,’
he said, ‘if you interrupt, I’ll put you over that chair and give you six of
the juiciest. I’ve no doubt Bimbo will be glad to hold you down.’

‘Charmed.
Quite like old times.’

‘Good.
Then I will resume. Where were we?’

‘This
American wench. Bought jewels in
Bond Street
.’

‘Exactly.
Well, when she had got them, the thought flashed upon her that on arriving with
them in
New York
, she would
have to pay heavy customs duty to the United States Government. She recoiled
from this.’

‘I
don’t blame her.’

‘So in
her innocent, girlish way she decided to smuggle them in.’

‘Quite
right. Don’t pay the bounders a penny, that’s what I say. They’ve got much too
much money as it is.’

‘Precisely
what Miss Vansittart felt. She held that opinion very strongly. But how to work
this smuggling project?’

‘That’s
always the snag.’

‘She
mused a while,’ said Lord Ickenham, interrupting Major Plank in what threatened
to be rather a long story about how he had once tried to sneak some cigars
through at Southampton, ‘and was rewarded with an idea. She had a friend, a
young sculptress. She went to her, got her to make a clay bust and put the
jewels in its head, and was then all set to take them to
America
in safety and comfort. She
reasoned that when the customs authorities saw a clay bust, they would simply
yawn and say “Ho hum, a clay bust,” and let it through.’

‘Very
shrewd.’

‘So
that was that. But … this is where you want to hold on to your chair, Bimbo …
unfortunately this young sculptress was at that time modelling a bust of
Mugsy.’

Major
Plank was plainly bewildered. He stared at Sir Aylmer, studying his features
closely and critically.