Years of Plenty Part 25

"I met him at a dinner once," said Chard. "Successful barrister. Face like a hatchet. Stern, morose, and inexorable, you know the type. But I believe he's nicer than he looks."

"Well, look here. You'd better come and talk to him while I drive him in. It would be better to have someone who knows the man. You can arrange what names to call each other."

Chard was attracted. Bavin was, he thought, a bouncing jacka.s.s, but he bounced before a large audience. He was certainly a person to 'acquire,' and Chard went about the world 'acquiring' the people whom he deemed worthy of that honour. It would be useful to know Bavin well and the formal President's dinner would not give him much chance.

Smith-Aitken, too, had been civil lately; he really wasn't such a bad chap. So Chard accepted with alacrity and Martin watched them being driven away. Nixon, a friend of Smith-Aitken's, went with them. He wanted a lift to the station.

That was at half-past two.

At a quarter to seven Lawrence rushed into Martin's rooms.

"Have you heard the latest?" he shouted. "Our Chard has been kidnapped. It's all over the place. Smith-Aitken got him in his car and G.o.d knows where they've taken him."

Martin saw it all in a flash. "But how did it leak out?" he asked.

"One of Smith-Aitken's push let on. Couldn't contain himself for glee.

Someone on the Bullingdon suggested it. They all hate Chard, and now they think they've fairly got him. No cheers and epigrams to-night."

"Are you dead certain about it?"

"Well, Chard isn't in his rooms. Neither he nor Smith-Aitken have been seen, and Bavin arrived from town by the 6.5."

Martin was silent.

"It's d.a.m.ned funny," said Lawrence.

"It would be a d.a.m.ned sight funnier if he could get back."

"But he won't. They'll see to that."

"We might get him," said Martin suddenly. "I've got an idea. This morning I heard the man Holland ask Smith-Aitken to dine with him to-night at Vincent's. Smith-A. said he wouldn't be in Oxford.

'Town?' said Holland. 'No, Abingdon, King's Arms.' Holland said something about a woman in the case and Smith-A. said: 'Not this time.

Don't you know?' It was a mere fluke that I heard him. But I fancy we may as well make use of the chance. I'm pretty sure Chard will be a guest at a little dinner in Abingdon."

"Yes, but it's only a possibility. Besides, what can we do?"

"We can look them up, just to emphasise the necessity of keeping secrets."

"It's nearly seven now."

"We can bag Rendell's motor bike and side-car."

"Yes; but what can we do when we're there?"

"Wait for an inspiration."

They went. The journey took some time, for the motor bicycle behaved abominably on Hinksey hill. Not till a quarter to eight did they reach Abingdon. Martin dismounted in the square and left Lawrence with the machine. He walked up to the King's Arms and glanced through the windows of the dining-room, which looked directly upon the street. He had been right in his surmise. Chard was dining with Nixon and Smith-Aitken. Apparently he was making the best of it: they seemed to be a happy party and pa.s.sed bottles with conviction.

Martin brought the news to Lawrence: "We simply must get hold of him,"

he said. "It would be the deed of a lifetime."

"That's all very well," said Lawrence. "But what the devil can we do?

We can't just go in and knock out our Bullingdon friends. We'd have the manager and the police nosing round and we'd never get away in time."

"We can't do that," Martin agreed. "And we can't afford to wait. It's nearly eight and we must be back by nine. What do people do in cinema dramas?"

"I know," Lawrence almost shouted. "Don't you remember 'l.u.s.t or Love?'

and how they rescued the white slave. The drama has its uses."

Martin remembered. "We might try," he said.

They entered the hotel and looked into the smoking-room. It was dark and empty. They collected all the old newspapers, took the wood from the unlit fire, and in the grate they heaped a monstrous pile. After blocking up the chimney they lit their bonfire. Smoke belched out into the room in dense, curling waves. When they could endure it no longer they opened the door and let the smoke into the pa.s.sage. Then they opened the door of the dining-room and shouted from concealment: "Fire!

Help! Fire!"

Smith-Aitken looked round, sniffed, and listened. There was an ominous crackling and an unspeakable smell. "So there is," he said. "I wonder if it started in the garage. My G.o.d." He fled without dignity to his car. Nixon and Chard went into the pa.s.sage. The manager, the housekeeper, the waiter, and three maids were gasping and fussing and talking about water. There didn't seem to be any.

Suddenly Nixon found himself pushed into the reeking smoking-room and Chard was hauled swiftly into the square. The turmoil was terrific. A policeman came and a crowd began to collect.

"You," said Chard, when he saw Martin and Lawrence.

There was no time for talking. Martin pushed Chard into the side-car, told Lawrence to follow by train, and let the bike do its best. When they were clear of Abingdon he explained things to the mystified Chard.

It was all so simple, so incredible.

"I never dreamed Smith-A. would try on that game," said Chard. "It was rather a dirty trick, but he was charming all the time. We seem to have toured half England during the afternoon. And it was a capital dinner. He brought the wine with him, the red wine of Burgundy, my boy. And I was looking forward to some of that very special liqueur brandy. He never travels without that. And now you've robbed me of it."

The cold, fresh air coming on top of the red wine of Burgundy made Chard more talkative than usual.

At five minutes past eight the debating hall of the Union Society was not merely full: it was crammed with an unparalleled audience.

Normally a large crowd would have come to hear Chard: a dense crowd would have come to hear Bavin. But Bavin versus Chard! It was unique.

And Chard was so reliable! He never failed on such occasions: he had his impromptus ready and his answers well rehea.r.s.ed.

But to the charms of oratory had been added this evening the fascination of mystery. Rumour has swift wings in such a community as a university, and already it was on everyone's lips that a colossal 'rag' had taken place, that Chard wouldn't be there for the occasion of his life, that he had been kidnapped.

So those who didn't want to hear either Chard or Bavin had come to see if Chard was going to turn up. All along the benches sat serried mult.i.tudes of members, whispering, chattering, perspiring. Along all those rows of faces, black and brown, yellow and white, spectacled and pimpled, ugly and less ugly, there gleamed expectancy. And by the doorway and up the gangways there jostled and pushed an ever-growing crowd of curious young men. Perhaps they wanted to see Bavin: certainly they yearned, they most definitely yearned, to know the truth about Chard.

At last the officers filed in amid applause. One almost forgot to look at Bavin, such was the eagerness to see if Chard had really vanished.

There was a loud murmur of surprise. He certainly was not there. Man said to man: "I told you so. They've nabbed him."

"In the absence of the Junior Librarian," said the President, "I call upon the Junior Treasurer to bring forward the weekly list of books."

That was all: no hint as to indisposition, no suggestion of Chard's adventure. There were the usual jokes. Of course people asked about Chard. The President said that he knew nothing of the Junior Librarian. He trusted he would appear in time for his speech. And when he read out the motion before the house and the list of speakers he included Chard's name.

At twenty minutes past eight the first speaker began. He finished at a quarter to nine and two others carried on the debate till half-past.

The second of them had reached his peroration. The audience paid little heed to his anxiety about the s.h.i.+p of state. Where the devil was Chard? That was all that mattered. Was Chard really lying gagged and throttled in a ditch?

The speaker sat down and the expectant audience forgot to applaud.

There was a pause, followed by much pus.h.i.+ng and heaving among the crowd at the door. Suddenly Chard was shot on to the floor of the house. He wore a rough grey suit and was liberally splashed with mud. But he walked quietly to his throne and took his seat by the immaculate President.

"The Junior Librarian," announced the President without the slightest sign of emotion. It is not for presidents to be human, and Marshall knew his business.