“Will he be all right?” – anxiously.
“He shall speak for himself,” said I, releasing my patient.
With a galvanic squirm the latter regained his feet, spun into the air, gyrated till I felt dizzy, and then streaked round the tennis-lawn, his hind feet comically overreaching his fore, steering a zigzag course with such inconsequence as suggested that My Lord of Misrule himself was directing him by wireless.
It was not worth while finishing our interrupted game, so we strolled back to the house. At the top of the stairs we parted, to go and change. Directly after lunch we were to leave for the fair.
Six days had elapsed since Nobby’s scuffle with the apple of Mr Bason’s eye. Life had slipped by uneventfully. The Sealyham had been put upon a strict diet and was thoroughly groomed three times a day: my store of clean starched linen had dwindled to one shirt and two collars, which, distrusting my brother-in-law, I kept under lock and key: and Mr Bason had been stung by our letter into sending a reply which afforded us the maximum of gratification. It ran as follows—
SIR,
Your insulting letter to hand.
I stand by every word of my previous letter.
The sooner, therefore, that you realize that I am not to be trifled with, the better for all concerned.
You are evidently one of those people who believe that impudent bluff will carry them anywhere, and that, with your birth and upbringing behind you, you can do as you please. But you are wrong. Among men who are men, as distinct from pedantic popinjays, you go for nothing. Pshaw.
HERBERT BASON.
B PLEYDELL, Esq.
P.S. – Be good enough to note that my dog’s name is “Blue Bandala,” not “Blue Banana.”
Our reply was dispatched within twenty-four hours.
SIR,
Many thanks for your masterly appreciation of my character.
We all think “pedantic popinjays” simply splendid. Is it your own?
Don’t tell old Banana Skin, but I’ve had the nerve to enter my Sealyham for the “All Comers “ event at Brooch.
So glad you’re not to be trifled with. Selah.
Yours faithfully,
BERRY PLEYDELL.
H BASON, Esq.
In two days’ time we should meet at Philippi.
It must be confessed that there were moments when we remembered our precipitancy in some uneasiness. Nobby was well bred, but he had not cost six hundred pounds. Always he looked his best, and his best was extremely good. His many excellent points were set off by a most attractive air and a singular charm and sprightliness of manner. Every movement and pose was full of grace, and he had the brightest eyes that I have ever seen. But Blue Bandala was clearly a “show” animal. Could our little David beat this very Goliath among dogs, and that upon the latter’s own ground? Could our little amateur take on a plus four professional and beat him at his own game? There was no manner of doubt that angels would at least have walked delicately where we had rushed in. However, it was too late now. Even if we would, we could not draw back. Beyond doing what we could to keep him as fit as a fiddle, there was nothing to be done.
After a bath I put on a tweed suit, concealed my discarded and sole surviving pair of white trousers from the rapacious eye of a random housemaid, and descended to lunch.
An hour later Adèle and Nobby and I were all in the Rolls, sailing along the soft brown roads
en route
for Fallow Hill.
It was a day of great loveliness, and the forest ways were one and all beset with a rare glory.
Thirty-six hours before, the first frost of autumn had touched the breast of Earth with silver finger-tips. ’Twas but a runaway knock. The mischief-loving knave was gone again, before the bustling dame had braced herself to open to her pert visitor. Maybe the rogue was beating up his quarters. The time of his dreaded lodgment was not yet. His apprehensive hostess was full of smiles. Summer was staying on…
Yet on the livery of the countryside the accolade of Frost had wrought a wonder. Two days ago the world was green. Today a million leaves glanced, green as before, yet with a new-found lustre – something of red in it, something of gold, something of sober brown. But the wonder was not to the trees. It was the humble bracken that had been dubbed knight. The homespun of the forest was become cloth of pure gold, glittering, flawless. In the twinkling of an eye the change had come. Here was an acre spread with the delicate fronds, and there a ragged mile, and yonder but shreds and patches – yet all of magic gold, flinging the sunlight back, lighting the shadows, making the humblest ride too rich for kings to trample till the green roofs and walls looked dull beside it, and the ephemeral magnificence took Memory by the throat and wrung a lease of life from that Reversioner.
“Tell me,” I said, “of Mr Bason. He interests me, and I’ve never seen him.”
“Mr Bason,” said Adèle, “is short and fat and – yes, I’m afraid he’s greasy. He has bright yellow hair and a ridiculous moustache, which is brushed up on end on each side of his nostrils. He has very watery pale blue eyes, and all the blood in his face seems to have gone to his nose.”
“Muscular rheumatism,” I suggested.
“I guess so. Of course, he knows best, and I don’t pretend to say what men should wear, but white flannel suits aren’t becoming to every figure, are they? Most of the rest of him was mauve – shirt, socks and handkerchief. Oh, and he had a tie on his pin.”
“But how lovely!”
“Yes, but you should have smelt the lilac. He was just perfumed to death. If he isn’t careful, one of these days he’ll get picked.”
“One of the old school, in fact. Well, well…” We swept round a corner, and I nodded ahead. “See that ridge in front of us? Well, that’s Fallow Hill. The village lies close, just on the other side.”
“What are you going to do with the car?” said Adèle.
“They’ll let me lock her up – don’t be shocked – at the brewery. I know them there.”
“You’ll admit it sounds bad.”
“Yes, but it smells lovely. You wait. For that reason alone, I should vote against Prohibition. The honest scent of brewing, stealing across the meadows on a summer eve, is one of the most inspiring things I know.”
“But what a man!” said Adèle. “‘Books in the running brooks,
Virtue in vats
, and good in everything.’ Nobby,” she added reproachfully, “why didn’t you tell me he was a poet?” The Sealyham put his head on one side, as if desiring her to repeat the question. “Oh, you cute thing!” And, with that, my lady bent and kissed the terrier between the bright brown eyes.
I put the wheel over hard, and the car swerved violently.
“For Heaven’s sake!” cried Miss Feste. “What are you doing?”
“It’s your fault,” said I. “I’m only human. Besides, he doesn’t deserve it.”
Adèle flung me a dazzling smile, made as though she would say something, and then, apparently changing her mind, relapsed into a provoking silence…
A quarter of an hour later the Rolls had been safely bestowed at the brewery, and my companion and I were making our way amusedly past booths and tents and caravans, where chapmen, hucksters, drovers, cheapjacks, gipsies and bawling showmen wrangled and chaffered and cried their wares or entertainments, making with the crude music of the merry-go-rounds much the same good-humoured uproar which had been faithfully rendered at the village of Fallow Hill every September for the last five hundred years.
“Blessings on your sweet pretty face, my lady!” cried an old voice.
We turned to see a very old gipsy, seated a little apart upon a backless chair, nodding and smiling in our direction.
Adèle inclined her head, and I slid a hand into my pocket.
“Come hither to me, my lady,” piped the old dame, “and let your man cross my old palm with silver, and I’ll tell you your fortune. Ah, but you have a happy face.”
Adèle looked at me, and I nodded.
“They’re a good folk,” I said, “and you’ll get better stuff for your money than you would in Bond Street. But don’t, if you don’t want to.”
My words could not have been heard by the gipsy. Yet, before Adèle could reply—
“Aye,” she said, “the pretty gentleman’s right. We’re a good folk, and there be some among us can see farther than the dwellers in towns.” Adèle started, and the crone laughed. “Come hither, my lady, and let me look in your eyes.”
She was an old, old woman, but the snow-white hair that thrust from beneath her kerchief was not thin: her face was shrunken and wrinkled, yet apple-cheeked: and her great sloe-black eyes glowed with a strange brilliance, as if there were fires kindled deep in the wasted sockets.
Adèle stepped forward, when, to my amazement, the gipsy put up her hands and groped for the girl’s shoulders. The significance of the gesture was plain. She was stone blind.
For a while she mumbled, and, since I had not gone close, I did not hear what she said. But Adèle was smiling, and I saw the colour come flooding into her cheeks…
Then the old dame lifted up her voice and called to me to come also.
I went to her side.
An old gnarled hand fumbled its way on to my arm.
“Aye,” she piped. “Aye. ‘Tis as I thought. Your man also must lose ere he find. Together ye shall lose, and together gain. And ye shall comfort one another.”
The tremulous voice ceased, and the hands slipped away.
I gave her money and Adèle thanked her prettily.
She cried a blessing upon us, I whistled to Nobby, and we strolled on…
“Look at that baby,” said Adèle. “Isn’t he cute?”
“Half a second,” said I, turning and whistling. “Which baby?”
“There,” said Adèle, pointing. “With the golden hair.”
A half-naked sun-kissed child regarded us with a shy smile. It was impossible not to respond…
Again I turned and whistled.
“Where can he be?” said Adèle anxiously.
“Oh, he always turns up,” I said. “But, if you don’t mind going back a little way, it’ll save time. With all this noise…”
We went back a little way. Then we went back a long way. Then we asked people if they had seen a little white dog with a black patch. Always the answer was in the negative. One man laughed and said something about “a dog in a fair,” and Fear began to knock at my heart. I whistled until the muscles of my lips ached. Adèle wanted us to search separately, but I refused. It was not a place for her to wander alone. Feverishly we sought everywhere. Twice a white dog sent our hopes soaring, only to prove a stranger and dash them lower than before. Round and about and in and out among the booths and swings and merry-go-rounds we hastened, whistling, calling and inquiring in vain. Nobby was lost.
We had intended to be home in time for tea.
As it was, we got back to White Ladies, pale and dejected, at a quarter to eight.
As she rose to get out of the car, Adèle gave a cry and felt frantically about her neck and throat.
“What’s the matter?” I cried.
“My pearls,” she said simply. “They’re not here.”
For what it was worth, I called for lights, and we took the cushions out and looked in the car.
But there was no sign of the necklace. It was clean gone.
The lamentations with which the news of our misfortunes was received were loud and exceeding bitter.
Jill burst into tears; Daphne tried vainly to comfort her, and then followed her example; Berry and Jonah vied with each other in gloomy cross-examination of Adèle and myself concerning our movements since we had left White Ladies, and in cheerless speculation with regard to the probable whereabouts of our respective treasures.
After a hurried meal the Rolls was again requisitioned, and all six of us proceeded to Fallow Hill. Not until eleven o’clock would the fun of the fair be suspended, and it was better to be on the spot, even if for the second time we had to come empty away, than to spend the evening in the torment of inactivity.
Of the loss of the Sealyham we could speak more definitely than of that of the necklace. Nobby had been by my side when the gipsy hailed us, so that there was no doubt but that he was lost at the fair. Regarding her pearls, Adèle could speak less positively. In fact, to say that she had had the necklace before breakfast that morning was really as far as she could go. “I know I had it then,” she affirmed, “because I always take it off before taking my bath, and I remember putting it on afterwards. As luck will have it, I was rather late this morning, and I couldn’t fasten the safety-chain, so after two or three shots I gave up trying, intending to do it later on. And this is the result.” She had not bathed again.
It was a sweet pretty gaud. So perfectly matched were its hundred and two pearls that many would have believed it unreal. It had belonged to her great grandmother, and was not insured.
Arrived at Fallow Hill, we went straight to the police. The loss of the jewels we communicated to them alone. Somewhat shamefacedly and plainly against Adèle’s will, I described the old gipsy and commended her to their vigilance. When they learned that she had laid hands upon Adèle, the two inspectors exchanged glances which there was no mistaking…
So far as Nobby was concerned, as well as informing the police, we enlisted the sympathy of the Boy Scouts. Also we engaged six rustics to perambulate the fair and cry the loss of the Sealyham for all to hear. Information leading to his recovery would be rewarded with the sum of five pounds, while the crier to whom the communication was made would receive five more for himself. Our six employees went about their work with a will, bellowing lustily. Daphne and Jonah sat in the car, rejecting the luckless mongrels which were excitedly paraded before them, one after another, from the moment that our loss was made known. The rest of us hunted in couples – Adèle with Berry, and Jill with me – scouring the maze of temporary alleys and lanes and crooked quadrangles, till we knew them by heart.
The merry-go-rounds had stopped whirling, and the booths were being shrouded or dismantled, as Jill and I made our way to the car for the last time.