Part 18

_What’ll I do_ _When you_ _Are far away,_ _And I_ _Am blue—_ _What’ll I do?_

Derry picked up his cue in a pleasing baritone—

_What’ll I do_ _When I_ _Am wondering who_ _Is kissing you—_ _What’ll I do?_

They finished the chorus together.

“Oh, you darling,” breathed Derry. “Of course, Roger must be out of his mind.”

Rosemary decelerated and slid an arm round his neck.

“So must Jenny,” she whispered.

As she gave him her lips, headlights leapt out of the darkness and four tires tore at the road.

Peruke wrenched the wheel round, and they missed a head-on collision by an inch and a half.

There was nothing to be said or done.

The coupé alone was to blame, Rosemary having allowed her to stray to the right of the road.

As the cars drew apart—

“They must have seen us,” said Rosemary. “Let’s pray it was no one we knew.”

“At least,” said Derry Peruke, “they can’t have been angry. To see all is to forgive all. And next time, sweetheart, I think I should put her in first.”

* * * * *

As the cars drew apart—

“Did you see who that was?” said Virginia in a freezing tone.

Captain Chase inserted a finger between his collar and throat.

“I saw your blasted husband kissing my wife.”

“How dare you?” cried Mrs. Peruke. “She had her arms round his neck.”

“He was taking advantage of her,” declared Roger. “Rosemary’s not that sort.”

“What d’you mean—_that sort_?” said Virginia furiously.

In view of the powder yet adhering to her companion’s shoulder, the peculiar pertinence of the question was undeniable.

Captain Chase swallowed before replying.

“I only meant,” he explained, “that—that she wouldn’t make the running.”

Virginia replied with a noise which cannot be reduced to writing, but was indicative at once of great contempt, loathing, and incredulity. Then, after the manner of one who fears contamination and desires to advertise the fact, she withdrew as far from Captain Chase as the construction of the limousine would allow.

“You seem to forget,” she said coldly, “that Derry is very attractive.”

“I say he’s deceived her,” was the violent reply. “Made her blind or something.”

“Why not face facts?” said Virginia. “She’s been trying to bring this off for weeks and months, and now——”

“It’s false,” roared Roger. “He’s managed to get her alone, an’—an’ . . . . ”

“I see,” said Virginia. “Once aboard the coupé and the girl is mine.” She laughed icily. “The only snag is that it’s _her_ coupé.”

“What if it is?” cried Roger. “He’s waited his chance—that’s all. He’s asked her to give him a lift, an’——”

“Where to? Kingston? We live in Curzon Street—six miles the other way.”

“I don’t care about that,” said Roger savagely. “He told her some tale, of course. Rosemary’s very trusting.”

“I suppose he put her arms round his neck.”

“She was struggling,” screamed Roger. “You saw for yourself the car was all over the road.”

“She was making a meal of it,” said Virginia, shuddering. “Ugh! Don’t think I’m defending Derry,” she added suddenly, “because I’m not. _But I know how he felt._” Roger started. “When you’re pursued and badgered by someone who says they’re dying for love of you, it’s very awkward to keep on putting them off—especially if you know them pretty well. One doesn’t want to hurt their feelings, and one doesn’t want a scene, and so for the sake of peace——”

“I can’t bear it,” said Roger thickly. “I don’t say I’m blameless, but——”

“I wonder,” said Virginia relentlessly, fingering a note in her bag, “I wonder if she has written to him.”

Here was treason, unconscionable, barefaced.

Captain Chase could hardly credit his ears.

After a frightful moment—

“I wonder if he’s ever rung her up,” he said brokenly.

Virginia, who believed in the telephone, stiffened.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “Out of kindness of heart.”

“And when she came to the telephone told her he couldn’t sleep until——”

“Do you remember your reply?” said Virginia in a shaking voice.

Roger shrugged his shoulders.

“To keep you awake,” he said, “would have been uncharitable.”

So soon as she could speak—

“Poor deluded Derry,” said Virginia uncertainly: “I feel quite sorry for him.”

“You’ll feel much more sorry for him to-morrow morning,” said Roger violently.

“Why?”

“In fact,” said Captain Chase darkly, “I shouldn’t faint with surprise if he felt sorry for himself.”

“Why?”

“Well, you don’t think I’m going to pass this over, do you? D’you think I’m going to have my wife hugged an’ kissed in broad—broad lamp-light——”

“In her own coupé, at her own request.”

“Never,” shouted Roger. “He was assaulting her.”

“Then why,” said Virginia swiftly, “why didn’t you stop the car?” Captain Chase started. “I thought men fell over themselves to rescue, er, virtue in distress. Oh, and when you tackle Derry, supposing he denies it, what are you going to say?”

“I shall say I saw him.”

“Where from? The interior of his own car . . . which you were sharing with his wife . . . at one o’clock in the morning . . . five miles from Berkeley Square?”

The sudden perception that his guns were spiked seemed to deprive Captain Chase of the power of utterance.

At the third attempt—

“Well, you can’t scratch Rosemary, either,” he blurted.

Having no answer at hand, Mrs. Peruke preserved what she hoped was a contemptuous silence; but presently, after endeavouring vainly to digest the unsavoury fact that if Derry was safe from Roger he was equally safe from her, she burst into tears of aggravation.

She had caught her husband bending, but, because her hands were tied, she could not strike. The rod was in pickle, and in pickle the rod must stay. As for Rosemary . . . .

Roger was speaking.

“I say, don’t cry, Jenny. I can’t bear it.”

“Men are brutes,” sobbed Virginia. “All of them. They just use women like gloves and then they throw them aside.”

“No, they don’t,” said Roger. “They——”

“They do-o-o. You know it. Look at you and Derry.”

With goggling eyes, Roger begged her to overlook their profligacy.

“We’re fools. That’s all,” he asserted. “Prize fools. But we aren’t vicious.”

“That’s just what you are,” wailed Virginia. “And you take it out on mugs like Rosemary and me. I’m not a bit mad with her—I’m simply sorry. I imagine life with you must be p-purple hell—like mine is with D-D-Derry. You spend your rotten time playing us up, an’ then when you’ve played us up you let us down.”

Captain Chase felt inclined to scream.

Instead—

“Gently, old lady,” he said. “Easy with the weaker vessel. I know it looks bad, but—well, girls like you an’ Rosemary, you don’t realize your power. Poor devils like Derry an’ me—we haven’t a ghost. An’ as if your natural beauty wasn’t enough you actually fuss yourselves up to—to make us think. It’s like goin’ out after sheep with a smoke-screen and a couple of tanks.”

“It’s a wicked lie,” shrieked Virginia. “How dare you say such a thing? You’re not like sheep. You’re wolves. And we don’t go after you. You come and pester us till we’re nearly out of our minds, and when for the sake of peace we try to be nice, you take what you want and then you turn us down.”

Roger took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

From the opposite corner of the limousine Virginia continued to dispense indignation in the shape of spasmodic inspirations which shook the seat.

The man who can withstand that particular form of emotion has yet to be sired.

After the tenth appeal, which was more of an _ultimatum_ and fairly rattled round the car, Roger returned to the assault.

“Jenny, my dear, have a heart. For God’s sake don’t cry like this. I swear I never meant any harm. You know I didn’t. And—and we’ll get back on them somehow. I’ve got an idea already—it only wants working out.”

“I don’t want to get back,” said Virginia, dabbing her eyes. “I’m not revengeful. To-morrow I shall go into retreat. I know a place in the Midlands. You live very simply and do your own cell, and you don’t see any papers or anything. And there aren’t any men for miles, except one priest.”

“Poor devil,” said Roger thoughtfully. “Does he muck out his own cell too?”

“Oh, of course you can laugh,” said Virginia hotly. “But I mean what I say. I’m utterly disillusioned, and I’m going to clear out and leave the lot of you to it. What’s your rotten idea?”

Roger took out a case and selected a cigarette.

“I’m afraid it’s too worldly,” he said. “Besides, as you don’t see the papers——”

“Now, where’s that note you sent me?” said Virginia, ransacking her bag. “The priest’ll want that to send to Derry.”

Captain Chase sat very still.

Then—

“Oh, the vixen!” he said. “Never mind. In return for that note I’ll hand you my rotten idea.”

With an envelope, pinched between her forefinger and thumb, Virginia tapped her small nose and stared at the chauffeur’s shoulders and the black and silver habit of Night beyond.

At length—

“I give you it back,” she said, “unconditionally.” The letter passed. “You should never have written it, Roger; but that was my fault. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve made a fool of you. And between us I quite believe we’ve driven Derry and Rosemary into each other’s arms. . . . Well, it’s no less than we deserve. Derry’s a wonderful husband, and Rosemary’s a peach of a wife.”

“So she is,” muttered Roger.

“But now . . . we’ve fed them up. . . . How far it’s gone—how long it’s been going on I haven’t the faintest idea. And how on earth we’re to stop it I can’t tell. If your idea will do that, I’m ready to try. But I will not put it across them. I—haven’t—the right.”

Chase tugged his moustache.

“Virginia,” he said, “I can’t let you talk like that. I’m too much—ashamed. I’m not going to say I regret the—the interlude, because that wouldn’t be true. You see, I’m only human, while you’re divine. But it’s been a shady business, and I’m frankly ashamed. Which of us two has been to blame won’t bear argument. I started it—that we both know: and to-night you’ve—you’ve ended it, dear.” He took the slight fingers in his and put them to his lips. “As for Derry and Rosemary, I’ve no doubt you’re right. If they’re assembling, we’ve only ourselves to thank. But I’m ready and willing to bet it’s not gone very far. If I’m right, the threat of exposure will kill it dead. An affair like this, while it’s young, can be frightened to death.”

“After all,” said Virginia slowly, “you ought to know. And I hope to Heaven you’re right. I like you, Roger, you know. And I’m fond of you—in a way. But the thought of losing Derry . . .”

She let the sentence go and put her face in her hands.

Captain Chase had switched on the light and was scribbling on the back of his envelope.

After a correction or two—

“How will this do?” he demanded. “Agony Column of _The Times. Unless owner of valuable closed car receives an abject apology from each of the occupants of the coupé which at a moment when they were_ OTHERWISE ENGAGED _was driven across his path, thereby almost occasioning a serious accident, he will publish the time and place at which the incident occurred, together with the number of the offending car._”

Virginia Peruke sat up, with a mischievous light in her eyes.

“I should simply love,” she said, “to see his apology. And yet,” she continued gently, “I should hate him to be all upset. You see, if ever he’s worried he always comes to me. And he couldn’t come to me about this. And—and I should feel awfully guilty and dreadfully mean.”

“I don’t want her to come unbuttoned,” said Roger musingly. “I couldn’t bear that. But I’m out to stop the rot—without involvin’ ourselves.”

Virginia interlaced ten rosy fingers.

“I don’t quite know what I want,” she said, as though thinking aloud. “Yes, I do. I want Derry back—terribly. Yet I want him to be smacked—not hard, just enough to sting. But I couldn’t enjoy his smacking unless I was smacked too. Can you ever begin to understand? You see, we ought to be involved—if justice is to be done.”

“That’s right,” said Roger. “You’ve assaulted the nail. My tail ought to be twisted, but not by Rosemary. Rosemary ought to be gingered but not by me. What we all want is a public executioner.”

Virginia nodded.

“That’s the idea,” she said. “Someone to clear the air. I don’t think we’ll need that notice. Any way, to-morrow we’ll know. And if this affair’s going strong, you can shove it in. But I don’t believe it is. If I love an’ cherish Derry, I think he’ll come back. And Rosemary too. What’s beginning to break my heart is that _things won’t be the same_. I’d jump at a general confession, but if they didn’t join in, it’d only make matters worse. If only something would happen to clear the air.”

“The god in the car,” said Roger, nodding his head. “That’s the wallah we want. You know. The Greeks were poets all right, but they couldn’t write plays. They could mess up their characters’ lives, but when the time came they couldn’t straighten them out. And as it was a case—the audience bein’ strict—of a small hemlock or a happy endin’, in the last act they always roped in a god on board a truck who made the garden lovely before bringin’ the curtain down.”

This admirable exposition was rudely received.

“In fact,” said Virginia fiercely, “your wretched god in the car is about as much use to us as a witch in a fairy-tale. Upon my soul, what an idiot a man can be. I ask for ideas; and you hand me a lot of wash about——”

“You said we wanted something to clear the air. I only corroborated——”

“Who wants corroboration? Do you? I know I don’t. Do pull yourself together and try and think. It’ll seem strange at first, of course—using your brain. But you can sleep it off.”

As the car turned into Pall Mall—

“Any way,” said Roger thickly, “those two have opened my eyes. You’re undeniably lovely, but you’re devilish——”

“Strict,” said Virginia, laying a hand on his arm. “Like your Athenian audience. I want a happy ending—so very much.”

The man turned and looked at the beautiful face.

This was eager, but the great grey eyes were wistful, and the exquisite mouth——

It occurred to Roger suddenly that the mouth could not be compared to that of Rosemary.

“So—so do I,” he faltered.

* * * * *

The Inspector leaned back in his chair and took his cigar from his lips.

“Look ’ere,” he said. “Before you asks for your summons you must ’ave your witnesses.”

“That’s right,” said Constable Bloke of the Metropolitan Police.

“Well, where are they?” said the Inspector, with the triumphant air of one who knows that whatever answer he receives can be ground to powder.

P.C. Albert Bloke consulted his notes.

“They was in the car bearin’ the number XH 2908, sir.”

“Then you mus’ see them,” said the Inspector, “an’ take their statemen’s.” He restored his cigar to his mouth. “If they was as near smashed up as wot you say, they’ll be ready enough to come: an’ any way, if you don’t give ’em their choice, they’ll think they’ve got to.”

“That’s right,” said P.C. Bloke.

“Well, you get ’old of them this afternoon. Don’t touch the chauffeur till you’ve seen ’oo was in the car. Then ask respectful if you may see ’im. If their statemen’s is O.K., we’ll get legal assistance ’ere.”

“We did ought to,” said the constable earnestly. “It’s as wicked a case of——”

“No case ain’t wicked without evidence,” said the Inspector. “Don’t you forget that, sonny. An’ yours alone ain’t worth a couple o’ kicks. You must ’ave corroboration. That coopy’ll bring down counsel—you see if it don’t. An’ if you ’adn’t got no backing—why, ’e’d turn you inside out before your eyes.” He raised his own to heaven and sighed as one who trusts that his enemies’ offences against him are not forgotten. “I’ve ’ad some,” he added heavily. “Never min’. Statemen’s, summons, legal assistance and conviction. That’s the order, me boy, an’ statemen’s first.”

“Very good, sir,” said P.C. Bloke.

The constable was ambitious.

Ever since orders had come through that the reckless driving of motor vehicles was to be actively discouraged, P.C. Albert Bloke had been awaiting his chance. This, until one that morning, an inscrutable Fortune had obstinately withheld. Then all of a sudden she had smiled—dazzlingly.

At dangerous cross-roads a coupé, proceeding at an unlawful speed, had swerved right across the roadway, almost collided with a limousine, very nearly knocked him down, passed a refuge on the wrong side and taken no notice at all of his orders to stop. (Such disregard was hardly surprising, for by the time the orders were given the car was out of earshot: but P.C. Bloke had decided that the ends of justice should not be defeated like that, and that if the coupé’s misconduct had cramped his style that was its own funeral.) More. The coupé’s tail-light was luminous, its number-plate clean, and P.C. Bloke had his note-book in his hand. As though to crown his endeavours, the limousine, plainly indignant, had dallied just long enough to enable him to add her number to that of the offending car.

Reference to the licensing authorities had given him the names of the owners of the respective cars, and an interview with his Inspector had, as we have seen, pointed the path to glory and the surest way to tread.

When he turned into Curzon Street at a quarter past five, P.C. Albert Bloke was prepared to wring a statement from a Trappist.

Peering into the library of the house which he was seeking, you might have thought that the bird of Care had there no rest for the sole of its foot. To be frank, it was on the wing.

That morning Virginia had breakfasted downstairs for the first time for half a year. Afterwards, at her suggestion, she and Derry had played a round of golf. The game did much, but the way in which she had asked him to give her lunch was irresistible. Her husband’s surprise at her attention was swallowed in a spring-tide of joy. This was infectious. Resolutely thrusting Rosemary out of her thoughts, Virginia found him attractive as never before and, surreptitiously comparing him with Roger, began to wonder whether she had been bewitched. When in the afternoon they repaired to Lord’s, pride of possession came to steal her content. Thronged as was the ground with a distinguished company, brilliant as was the parade upon the mighty green, Derry Peruke stood out, a notable figure of a man. Virginia was equally conspicuous, but love had no eyes for that. Presently Royalty saw them, and the two were sent for. Virginia’s cup was full. . . .

The match was over early, and as they were leaving the ground two familiar figures emerged from a covered stand and, apparently engrossed in mutual admiration, stepped almost into their arms.

For a second Virginia’s sun lurched in his heaven. Then, quick as a flash, she did the right thing.

“My dear,” she said to Rosemary, “but what a peach of a dress. Come back and have tea in Curzon Street and let me digest its style. And I’ll show you one from Michele that I’m afraid to put on.”

Mrs. Chase picked up her cue. . . .

The four shared a taxi to Mayfair and, putting their shoulders to the tambourine, kept this upon the move. Their efforts met with success. By inches uneasiness was shunted, and by the time that tea was served the four were displaying a fellowship which was every moment becoming more spontaneous. Old days, old laughter were recaptured: umbrage was overwhelmed, the sense of injury starved. The spectre of resentment was there, but it was under hatches.

Then the butler entered and spoke to Derry.

“A policeman?” said the latter. “Oh, a summons, I s’pose. Jenny, m’dear, have you been stopped in the Park?”

“That’s right,” said Virginia, turning. “On Monday. But what a sinful shame. I wasn’t doing thirty, and they said at the time—— Constable!”

“Madam,” said P.C. Bloke and entered the room.

“Who applied for this summons? Was it a keeper with a grey moustache?”

P.C. Bloke stared.

“What summons, madam?” he said blankly.

Amid a roar of laughter, Virginia clapped her hands to her mouth.

“I have said the wrong thing, haven’t I? Never mind. Constable, I’m sure from your face you know when to be deaf.”

P.C. Bloke grinned respectfully.

“I ’ope so, madam.”

“That’s right,” said Virginia. “And now what can we do for you?”

The constable turned to Derry.

“Major Peruke, sir?”

“That’s right,” said Derry comfortably. “What have I done?”

“Nothin’ at all, sir,” said Bloke hastily. “I’m not after you. But I think you’ve a limousine car, sir,” he added with a business-like air.

“So I have,” said Derry Peruke.

“Number XH 2908, sir.”

“Quite right,” said Derry, wondering what was afoot.

“Were you usin’ ’er early this mornin’, sir?”

Virginia started, Rosemary caught her breath, and Roger, who had been about to drink, held his refreshment for a moment half-way to his lips and then replaced it untasted upon a table. Of the four Peruke alone betrayed no emotion at all.

“Yes,” he said casually enough. “Drove here from Carlton House Terrace about—about half-past two, wasn’t it, dear?”

Bitterly conscious of an unusually high, if becoming colour—

“Exactly,” replied his wife. “I heard the clock at the Palace strike as we passed.”

“Did you use ’er before that, sir—this side of midnight?”

In an electric silence Derry shook his head.

“Not after midnight,” he said. “I drove to Carlton House Terrace about eleven and home about half-past two, but that was all.”

The constable raised his eyebrows.

“Then I’m afraid she was bein’ used, sir, without your authority. An’ as this is rather important, I’d like a word with your chauffeur—if you’ve no objection.”

There was another silence.

Violently red in the face, Captain Chase sat like a graven image, wide-eyed but sightless. One slight hand to her mouth, Rosemary, still as death, stared upon the floor.

Realizing that something must be done, and done quickly, Virginia took a deep breath.

“You say ‘before midnight’?” she said barefacedly.

“_After_ midnight, madam,” corrected P.C. Bloke.

“Oh, I used her _after_ midnight,” said Virginia. “I thought you were talking about before.”

“No, after, dear,” said Derry gallantly.

“Oh, I used her after midnight.” She turned to her husband. “I felt I must have some air, so I sent for Filmer and went for a little drive.”

“Ah, that explains it,” said Derry, waving a hand. As though released from a spell, Captain and Mrs. Chase relaxed their muscles and murmured their concurrence. “Anything else, Constable?”

“If you please, sir.” He turned to Virginia. “Excuse me askin’ you, madam, but were you alone?”

Supercharged with resentment and mortification, Virginia could have burst.

Instead, she turned to Roger.

“Did you come with me or not? I know you said you were going to, but I went to sleep almost at once, and——”

“Yes, I came,” said Roger, uncrossing and recrossing his legs and mentally consigning all women and police-officers to outer darkness. “Don’t you remember when I woke you to say we were back?”

“I can’t say I do,” said Virginia ruthlessly. “Never mind.” She turned to the constable. “This gentleman says he was with me.”

P.C. Bloke addressed himself to Roger.

“D’you remember anythin’ ’appenin,’ sir, during your drive?”

With goggling eyes, Roger assured the ceiling that he could recall nothing.

“It was a most—most uneventful progress,” he added thickly.

A deeper tinge of colour stole into Virginia’s cheeks.

P.C. Bloke frowned and fingered his chin.

“Nothing at all, sir?” he ventured.

Not daring to trust his voice, Captain Chase shook his head.

Rosemary cleared her throat.

“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “—it’s nothing to do with me—but perhaps if the constable could give you some sort of idea of what he wants to know . . .”