Part 19

“I agree,” said Derry heartily, taking out cigarettes. “What are you after, Constable? Somebody been knocked down?”

“We never knocked anybody down,” said Virginia. “That I’ll swear.”

“Oh no, madam,” said P.C. Bloke. “I’m not suggestin’ it. It’s rather the other way. But as neither you nor the gentleman don’t recall no inciden’, I’m afraid p’r’aps I’m wastin’ your time.” He turned to Derry. “Can you tell me where I shall find your chauffeur, sir?”

For the second time reference to the chauffeur as a possible fount of information produced an immediate effect.

“Ha-half a moment,” said Roger desperately. “I mean, as my wife was saying, can’t you give us any idea of what you’re getting at?” He laughed inanely. “You see, you’ve—you’ve aroused our curiosity, and I—we feel it’s only fair to put us wise.”

He stopped there to wipe the sweat from his brow.

The constable glanced about him before replying.

Virginia, scarlet in the face, was smoking furiously and regarding an exquisite Herring with narrowed eyes. Handkerchief to lips, Rosemary, whose sense of humour her husband’s agonized travail had rendered mutinous, fought to suppress her mirth. With the idiotic grin of one who is seeking to maintain his gravity by entering the cataleptic state, Major Peruke gazed upon a bowl of sweet-peas.

Wondering if this deportment was that generally obtaining in Curzon Street, P.C. Albert Bloke referred to his notes—less for the purpose of refreshing his memory than with some hazy idea of stabilizing his wits, the formation of which was beginning to get ragged.

Almost unconsciously he began to read aloud his report.

“_At 1.10 a.m. on July the eighth I was on duty at the junction of Roe’ampton Lane and Dandle Row. A limousine car, ooze number I afterwards ascertained to be XH 2908, was about to turn out of the Row towards Richmond at a slow pace. Its lights was burnin’. As it turned out I made to pass be’ind it to cross the Lane when a coopy, ooze number I afterwards ascertained to be XL 9436, proceedin’ at a ’igh speed in the direction of Putney ’Eath, swerved right across the roadway an’——_”

Derry’s cigarette-case fell to the parquet with a crash.

Everyone jumped violently, and Rosemary, white to the lips, stifled a cry. Purple in the face, the culprit stammered apologies and garnered his cigarettes with trembling fingers. Remembering her recent ignominy, Virginia surveyed his efforts with a cold and glittering stare. His hands clapped to his face, Roger furtively regarded his wife between his fingers.

“Go on, Constable,” said Virginia sweetly. “‘Swerved right across the roadway’ directly into the path of the limousine, whose headlights were on.”

“Thank you, madam,” said Bloke triumphantly. “I couldn’t say that myself because I was be’ind your car. But it passed so close to me that I felt the wind on me face.” He turned to Roger. “Do you remember it too, sir?”

As though wishful to uproot it, Captain Chase tugged his moustache.

“I—I have a faint recollection,” he said uneasily. “If I remember, they—they swung away again. You know. Corrected their error an’——”

“’Appily for you, sir,” was the grim reply. “Otherwise it’d ’ve been manslaughter. As wicked a piece of reckless drivin’ as ever I saw. Passed the refuge on the wrong side——”

“Had to do that,” said Derry. “I mean—they probably couldn’t ’ve got back without countin’ the refuge out.”

“Very probably, sir,” said the constable. “You can’t bother about them things at forty-five miles an hour.”

This was too much.

“O-o-oh!” cried Rosemary. “I wasn’t going——” She stopped dead there and swallowed violently. “I wasn’t going to—to tell you,” she continued desperately. “But I saw a car going fast the other day. Not—not so fast as that, though,” she added with a sickly smile.

P.C. Albert Bloke put a hand to his head.

With shaking fingers, Major Peruke was lighting a cigarette: as he did so a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his nose. Virginia looked as though about to burst into hysterical laughter. The idiotic grin which had lately inhabited Derry’s face seemed to have shifted bodily to that of Roger.

Once again the constable referred to his notes.

“_I called upon them to stop, but they took no notice._”

“Perhaps—perhaps they didn’t hear you,” blurted Derry Peruke.

“That’s their look-out, sir. One can’t do no more than shout.” He turned to Virginia. “And now if you please, madam, I’d like to take your statemen’.”

A rustle of consternation greeted this curt announcement.

As the fellow felt for a pencil—

“I—I don’t quite follow,” said Derry. “Are you, er, proposing to prosecute?”

“We are that, sir,” was the reply. “The Commissioner ’e’s determined to put down this dangerous drivin’.” Again he turned to Virginia. “May I ’ave your full name, madam?”

Mrs. Peruke hesitated.

“I really saw very little,” she said, frowning.

“Quite so, madam,” said P.C. Bloke. “They was goin’ too fast to see much. But you saw them comin’, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I saw them all right,” said Virginia, determined to get her own back. “There’s nothing the matter with our headlights. You couldn’t help seeing—_seeing right into the car_, could you, Roger?”

Roger was understood to concur.

Letting his pencil wander idly across a page, P.C. Bloke took on an absent air.

“Did the man who was driving——”

“It was a woman,” said his victim promptly.

As if by an effort recalling his attention—

“Oh, you couldn’t see that, madam,” said P.C. Albert Bloke.

Oblivious of the agonized signals which Derry was making behind the officer’s back—

“Of course I could,” cried Virginia. “The car had right-hand steering, and she was on the right—with a man by her side. She had one hand—on the wheel.”

Her cheeks flaming, frantically twisting her rings, Rosemary moistened her lips and prayed for death.

The constable shrugged his shoulders and let his pencil stray.

“If you was to say that, madam, you’d be asked if you’d know ’em again, an’ then you would ’ave to say ‘No.’”

“On the contrary,” said Virginia, “_I should know them anywhere_.”

“Bee-utiful,” said Derry, wiping the sweat from his face. Virginia started at his tone and a finger flew to her lip. “Constable, I congratulate you. As delicate a piece of leading as ever I saw. Step by step, right over the edge, into the muck-heap. And now we _are_ all right. ‘I recognize the defendant as the woman I saw: I also recognize the man.’ Any more for the witness-box? My God, what a scoop for the Press. And I should think ‘the woman’ driving ’d get about five years.”

Rosemary went very white.

“Maximum penalty, three months, sir.”

“That all? What a shame! Never mind. Read out your shorthand notes before you transcribe them. I’d like to hear the—the death-warrant.”

In the midst of an appalling silence Rosemary burst into tears.

“I—I think you’re very unkind,” she sobbed, addressing Virginia. “Poor—poor ‘woman.’ I—I don’t suppose for a moment she meant any harm. And but—but for you she wouldn’t have been hauled up and sent to prison.”

Virginia was on her knees at Rosemary’s feet.

“Oh, my darling,” she cried, “what a poisonous fool I’ve been! I only meant to pull your leg. I never dreamed——”

A hurricane of coughing from Major Peruke cut short the sentence.

As the paroxysm subsided he turned to P.C. Bloke.

“The lady,” he said gravely, “is naturally upset. If you remember, she saw a car going fast the other day. Besides, we don’t talk about it, but when quite a child her grocer was convicted of pound-breach, and she’s never got over it.”

Supposing Mrs. Chase to be simple and wondering what pound-breach might be—

“Quite so, sir,” said P.C. Bloke. “Might I ’ave your lady’s full name?”

“Certainly. Virginia Stacey Peruke. What had she better wear when she goes to Court? Mourning?”

Virginia began to weep violently, and P.C. Bloke, who was writing, dropped his pencil and regarded her open-mouthed.

“Supposing,” said Roger suddenly, “supposing you took my statement.” Derry started and Rosemary stiffened in her chair. Virginia continued to sob explosively. “I mean, as the lady’s going, I may as well back her up.”

“Without doubt, sir,” said the constable greedily. “May I ’ave——”

“I first saw the coupé,” said Roger, “when it was almost upon us. The headlights picked it up and enabled me to see right into the car. As our chauffeur applied his brakes, the man who was driving the coupé——”

“‘The woman,’ I think you mean, sir.”

“No, no,” said Roger calmly. “It was a man driving. As I was saying, he——”

“But the lady’s stated——”

“Has she?” said Captain Chase, stifling a yawn. “Oh, well, I can’t help that. He had a hand on the wheel, and——”

“One moment, sir. Which side was the steering on?”

“On the right,” said Roger. “The man was driving with a woman by his side.”

For a moment nobody breathed. Then the constable took out a handkerchief and mopped his face.

“Well, that beats it,” he said wearily. “’Ere’s a direc’ conflic’ on the most important point. They can’t both ’ve bin drivin’.” He turned to Virginia. “Madam, are you sure——”

“P-positive,” quavered Virginia.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Roger. “He had a spade-shaped beard.”

“She hadn’t,” said Virginia stoutly. “She looked perfectly sweet.”

P.C. Bloke put his note-book and pencil away.

Then he turned to Derry.

“One or the other’s mistook, sir. That’s perfectly plain. And there for the moment I’ll leave it. If I may ’ave a word with your chauffeur . . .”

“I see,” said Major Peruke. “I suppose you want him to give the casting-vote. If he says a woman was driving, you’ll call the lady. If he says a man was driving——”

“Well, sir,” said Bloke uneasily, “we mus’ do our best. The Commissioner’s orders——”

“Assume he says that the driver of the coupé was a man. Very good. In that case you call that gentleman. _Supposing the defence were to get hold of Mrs. Peruke._”

“We mus’ ’ope they wouldn’t, sir.”

“_But they have_,” said Derry. “In fact, they’ve got hold of them both: and whichever one you don’t want they’re going to call.”

The constable stared at the speaker with starting eyes.

Then he glanced round wildly.

Virginia and Captain Chase were nodding confirmatively.

“But the summons ain’t issued,” he cried. “There ain’t no defence—not yet. Why, the coopy don’t even know that its number was took.”

“Oh yes, it do—doth,” said Derry. “You told us as much—just now. ‘Whose number I afterwards ascertained to be XL 9436.’”

“Yes, but you ain’t the defence, sir.”

“Not yet,” was the pregnant reply.

The luckless officer recoiled against the wall.

“‘Not yet’?” he said hoarsely. “_‘Not yet’?_ Why, then, you . . .”

“We were the coupé,” said Derry. He nodded at Mrs. Chase. “That lady and I.”

“You . . . you was—oh, Gawd, what a perishin’ ’ave,” said P.C. Bloke.

The serio-comic note which the apostrophe sounded was irresistible: the realization that it was also sounding the retreat was overwhelming: the four dissolved in peals of hysterical laughter.

With tears running down his cheeks, Derry sloshed whisky and soda into a glass and pressed the beverage into the constable’s hand.

“You’ve earned it,” he sobbed. “Earned it better than you know. ‘One crowded hour of glorious life is worth’ a spot without a stain—and a bit over. We’ll adjust the balance in a minute. What are you going to tell the Commissioner?”

Albert Bloke put his empty hand to his head.

“I never see such a case,” he said unsteadily. “Talk about ’and in glove. Why, the pro’ibited degrees ain’t in it. An’ there’s my answer. _’Usbands an’ wives ain’t competent witnesses, sir._”

There was a sudden silence.

Then—

“Thank you,” said Derry softly. “I—I think we’d forgotten that,” he added, glancing around.

“It’s—it’s a very good rule,” said Virginia gently.

“It is,” said Roger.

“It’s of pure gold,” said Rosemary. “But it doesn’t sound like the Law. It’s more like the Book of Proverbs.”

“I’ve no doubt it dates from then,” said Derry Peruke. “Solomon probably made it in self-defence.”

“Seven ’undred statemen’s,” said P.C. Bloke brokenly.

“He had a spade-shaped beard,” said Roger, laughing.

“But the Queen of Sheba was driving,” said Mrs. Peruke.

“The gods,” said Rosemary Chase, “were in the other car.”

Virginia shook her head.

“I never saw them,” she said. “There were a couple of goats.”

“That’s right,” cried Roger excitedly. “The god in the car was on foot.”

“Masquerading,” said his wife, “as a recording angel.”

“Which shows,” said Derry, “that the cobbler should stick to his last. As a recorder, he’s failed. As the god in the car, he’s done what we couldn’t have done in a thousand years.”

“Exactly,” observed Virginia. “He’s cleared the air.”

“And that,” said Rosemary Chase, “with the flat of the sword.”

P.C. Bloke, whose brain had been out of its depth ever since the Queen of Sheba, plunged to where it could touch bottom and raised his glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “your very good health.”

THE END

= _ N O V E L S B Y D O R N F O R D Y A T E S _ =

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=VALERIE FRENCH=

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=AND FIVE WERE FOOLISH=

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=AS OTHER MEN ARE=

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TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.