'I will not have a poached egg,' replied Sir Masterman. 'Poached egg, indeed! Poached egg, forsooth! Ha! Tchal! Bah!'
He spoke with such curt brusqueness that a stranger, had one been present, might have supposed him to belong to some league or society for the suppression of poached eggs. Osbert, however, with his special knowledge of the facts, was able to interpret this brusqueness correctly and was not surprised when his visitor, gazing at him keenly with a pair of steely blue eyes which must have got him very much disliked in military circles, plunged at once into the subject of the letter.
'Mr Mulliner, my niece Mabel has received a strange communication from you.'
'Oh, she got it all right?' said Osbert, with an attempt at ease.
'It arrived this morning. You had omitted to stamp it. There was threepence to pay.'
'Oh, I say, I'm fearfully sorry. I must . . .'
Major-General Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames waved down his apologies.
'It is not the monetary loss which has so distressed my niece, but the letter's contents. My niece is under the impression that last night she and you became engaged to be married, Mr Mulliner.'
Osbert coughed.
'Well – er – not exactly. Not altogether. Not, as it were . . . I mean . . . You see . . .'
'I see very clearly. You have been trifling with my niece's affections, Mr Mulliner. And I have always sworn that if ever a man trifled with the affections of any of my nieces, I would . . .' He broke off and, taking a lump of sugar from the bowl, balanced it absently on the edge of a slice of toast. 'Did you ever hear of a Captain Walkinshaw?'
'No.'
'Captain J. G. Walkinshaw? Dark man with an eyeglass. Used to play the saxophone.'
'No.'
'Ah? I thought you might have met him. He trifled with the affections of my niece, Hester. I horsewhipped him on the steps of the Drones Club. Is the name Blenkinsop-Bustard familiar to you?'
'No.'
'Rupert Blenkinsop-Bustard trifled with the affections of my niece Gertrude. He was one of the Somersetshire Blenkinsop-Bustards. Wore a fair moustache and kept pigeons. I horsewhipped him on the steps of the Junior Bird-Fanciers. By the way, Mr Mulliner, what is your club?'
'The United Jade-Collectors,' quavered Osbert.
'Has it steps?'
'I – I believe so.'
'Good. Good.' A dreamy look came into the General's eyes. 'Well, the announcement of your engagement to my niece Mabel will appear in to-morrow's
Morning Post.
If it is contradicted . . .Well, good morning, Mr Mulliner, good morning.'
And, replacing in the dish the piece of bacon which he had been poising on a teaspoon, Major-General Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames left the room.
The meditation to which my nephew Osbert had given himself up on the previous night was as nothing to the meditation to which he gave himself up now. For fully an hour he must have sat, his head supported by his hands, frowning despairingly at the remains of the marmalade on the plate before him. Though, like all the Mulliners, a clear thinker, he had to confess himself completely non-plussed. The situation had become so complicated that after awhile he went up to the library and tried to work it out on paper, letting X equal himself. But even this brought no solution, and he was still pondering deeply when Parker came up to announce lunch.
'Lunch?' said Osbert, amazed. 'Is it lunch-time already?'
'Yes, sir. And might I be permitted to offer my respectful congratulations and good wishes, sir?'
'Eh?'
'On your engagement, sir. The General happened to mention to me as I let him out that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between yourself and Miss Mabel Petherick-Soames. It was fortunate that he did so, as I was thus enabled to give the gentleman the information he required.'
'Gentleman?'
'A Mr Bashford Braddock, sir. He rang up about an hour after the General had left and said he had been informed of your engagement and wished to know if the news was well-founded. I assured him that it was, and he said he would be calling to see you later. He was very anxious to know when you would be at home. He seemed a nice, friendly gentleman, sir.'
Osbert rose as if the chair in which he sat had suddenly become incandescent.
'Parker!'
'Sir?'
'I am unexpectedly obliged to leave London, Parker. I don't know where I am going – probably the Zambesi or Greenland – but I shall be away a long time. I shall close the house and give the staff an indefinite holiday. They will receive three months' wages in advance, and at the end of that period will communicate with my lawyers, Messrs Peabody, Thrupp, Thrupp, Thrupp, Thrupp and Peabody of Lincoln's Inn. Inform them of this.'
'Very good, sir.'
'And, Parker.'
'Sir?'
'I am thinking of appearing shortly in some amateur theatricals. Kindly step round the corner and get me a false wig, a false nose, some false whiskers and a good stout pair of blue spectacles.'
Osbert's plans when, after a cautious glance up and down the street, he left the house an hour later and directed a taxicab to take him to an obscure hotel in the wildest and least-known part of the Cromwell Road were of the vaguest. It was only when he reached that haven and had thoroughly wigged, nosed, whiskered and blue-spectacled himself that he began to formulate a definite plan of campaign. He spent the rest of the day in his room, and shortly before lunch next morning set out for the Second-Hand Clothing establishment of the Bros Cohen, near Covent Garden, to purchase a complete traveller's outfit. It was his intention to board the boat sailing on the morrow for India and to potter awhile about the world, taking in
en route
Japan, South Africa, Peru, Mexico, China, Venezuela, the Fiji Islands and other beauty-spots.
All the Cohens seemed glad to see him when he arrived at the shop. They clustered about him in a body, as if guessing by instinct that here came one of those big orders. At this excellent emporium one may buy, in addition to second-hand clothing, practically anything that exists: and the difficulty – for the brothers are all thrustful salesmen – is to avoid doing so. At the end of five minutes, Osbert was mildly surprised to find himself in possession of a smoking-cap, three boxes of poker-chips, some polo sticks, a fishing-rod, a concertina, a ukulele, and a bowl of goldfish.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance. These men appeared to him to have got quite a wrong angle on the situation. They seemed to think that he proposed to make his travels one long round of pleasure. As clearly as he was able, he tried to tell them that in the few broken years that remained to him before a shark or jungle-fever put an end to his sorrows he would have little heart for polo, for poker, or for playing the concertina while watching the gambols of goldfish. They might just as well offer him, he said querulously, a cocked hat or a sewing machine.
Instant activity prevailed among the brothers.
'Fetch the gentleman his sewing-machine, Isadore.'
'And, while you're getting him the cocked hat, Lou,' said Irving, 'ask the customer in the shoe department if he'll be kind enough to step this way. You're in luck,' he assured Osbert. 'If you're going travelling in foreign parts, he's the very man to advise you. You've heard of Mr Braddock?'
There was very little of Osbert's face visible behind his whiskers, but that little paled beneath its tan.
'Mr B – b – b. . .?'
'That's right. Mr Braddock, the explorer.'
'Air!' said Osbert. 'Give me air!'
He made rapidly for the door, and was about to charge through when it opened to admit a tall, distinguished-looking man of military appearance.
'Shop!' cried the newcomer in a clear, patrician voice, and Osbert reeled back against a pile of trousers. It was Major-General Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames.
A platoon of Cohens advanced upon him, Isadore hastily snatching up a fireman's helmet and Irving a microscope and a couple of jig-saw puzzles. The General waved them aside.
'Do you,' he asked, 'keep horsewhips?'
'Yes, sir. Plenty of horsewhips.'
'I want a nice strong one with a medium-sized handle and lots of spring,' said Major-General Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames.
And at this moment Lou returned, followed by Bashford Braddock.
'Is this the gentleman?' said Bashford Braddock genially. 'You're going abroad, sir, I understand. Delighted if I can be of any service.'
'Bless my soul,' said Major-General Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames. 'Bashford? It's so confoundedly dark in here, I didn't recognize you.'
'Switch on the light, Irving,' said Isadore.
'No, don't,' said Osbert. 'My eyes are weak.'
'If your eyes are weak you ought not to be going to the Tropics,' said Bashford Braddock.
'This gentleman a friend of yours?' asked the General.
'Oh, no. I'm just going to help him to buy an outfit.'
'The gentleman's already got a smoking-cap, poker-chips, polo sticks, a fishing-rod, a concertina, a ukulele, a bowl of goldfish, a cocked hat and a sewing-machine,' said Isadore.
'Ah?' said Bashford Braddock. 'Then all he will require now is a sun helmet, a pair of puttees, and a pot of ointment for relieving alligator-bites.'
With the rapid decision of an explorer who is buying things for which somebody else is going to pay, he completed the selection of Osbert's outfit.
'And what brings you here, Bashford?' asked the General.
'Me? Oh, I looked in to buy a pair of spiked boots. I want to trample on a snake.'
'An odd coincidence. I came here to buy a horsewhip to horsewhip a snake.'
'A bad week-end for snakes,' said Bashford Braddock.
The General nodded gravely.
'Of course, my snake,' he said, 'may prove not to be a snake. In classifying him as a snake I may have misjudged him. In that case I shall not require this horsewhip. Still, they're always useful to have about the house.'
'Undoubtedly. Lunch with me, General?'
'Delighted, my dear fellow.'
'Goodbye, sir,' said Bashford Braddock, giving Osbert a friendly nod. 'Glad I was able to be of some use. When do you sail?'
'Gentleman's sailing to-morrow morning on the
Rajputana
,' said Isadore.
'What!' cried Major-General Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames. 'Bless my soul! I didn't realize you were going to
India
. I was out there for years and can give you all sorts of useful hints. The old
Rajputana
?Why, I know the purser well. I'll come and see you off and have a chat with him. No doubt I shall be able to get you a number of little extra attentions. No, no, my dear fellow, don't thank me. I have a good deal on my mind at the moment, and it will be a relief to do somebody a kindness.'
It seemed to Osbert, as he crawled back to the shelter of his Cromwell Road bedroom, that Fate was being altogether too rough with him. Obviously, if Sir Masterman Petherick-Soames intended to come down to the boat to see him off, it would be madness to attempt to sail. On the deck of a liner under the noon-day sun the General must inevitably penetrate his disguise. His whole scheme of escape must be cancelled and another substituted. Osbert ordered two pots of black coffee, tied a wet handkerchief round his forehead, and plunged once more into thought.