Men of Affairs Part 51

"Mother dear," Anthony interposed, "aren't you going down to the village?"

A suggestion to which Harrison Smith proved a ready seconder.

"Don't let us detain you, Madam," he beseeched.

"No, I won't, I won't. Besides, I mustn't be late. As Mr. Gladstone said in '84--and oh, what a hot summer that was--he said--'Detention is the mother of time.'"

At which Freddie Dirk, who knew something of both detention and time, s.h.i.+vered uncomfortably and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Never be late," continued Mrs. Barraclough, rallying her resources for a new oration, "although I was late once for a flower show at Weston-super-Mare--or was it a funeral, Anthony? At any rate, there were a lot of flowers there, so it may have been a wedding or a garden party.

But really, I mustn't stay a moment longer. I've got to see a Mrs.

Bra.s.sbound--poor dear, she's--Anthony, go away, you mustn't listen--I'm going to treat you as friends--there's going to be a baby--she's the wife of our village constable, you know--such a nice man--but as I've always said, Policemen will be Policemen."

"Yes, yes, yes," said Harrison Smith, whose patience was running out, "very interesting. I have a friend staying at the hotel. I wonder if I might use your telephone."

Mrs. Barraclough caught the warning in Anthony's eyes as she gave her consent. Also she caught a glint of light from the rose cutters that lay on the sofa.

What more natural than for a hostess to be seated while her guest made his call and what more fortunate than the fact that the telephone wire pa.s.sed over the arm of the sofa on its way to the insulator in the floor.

The snip of the scissors as she cut the wire was quite inaudible because of the good lady's flow of remarks on the subject of telephony.

"They may keep you waiting," she said and kept on chattering until Harrison Smith hung up the receiver in despair of being connected with his ally Bolt.

"And now, Madam, I feel sure we have kept you much too long," he said.

"You'd better be off, Mother," said Anthony, who although vaguely aware that she was endeavouring to create an atmosphere of vacuity, could not fathom the advantage to be gained.

"I'm going, dear, I'm going. I was thinking, that's all."

"Thinking," came from Dirk.

"Wondering if you two gentlemen could eat mutton. My dear brother who died in '93 had very strong views about mutton, especially when it was cold. He said----"

But the prospect of hearing what he said so shook the good manners of her visitors that they almost breasted her toward the bedroom door. They would probably have succeeded in their object had not Flora hurried in from the garden.

"The doctor is with her now," said Flora. "I've got the car ready."

Mrs. Barraclough became almost hysterical. There was no limit to the instructions she showered upon the hapless Flora. Were the vegetables in the car? Had she been sent for? Was Mr. Bra.s.sbound there, and finally, had Flora put the "you know" into the basket?

"The 'you know,'" said Flora, hazily.

"Silly, silly girl," wailed Mrs. Barraclough. "Sergeant Ealing, do excuse me whispering to my maid, but it is so difficult to speak out in public."

She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper only for the briefest s.p.a.ce and Flora nodded gravely and said:

"Yes, Madam, I quite understand," and went out.

"And now I really must be going," said Mrs. Barraclough at her bedroom door. But she descended again upon her visitors, now purple with exasperation, and possessed herself of their hands.

"I have enjoyed your conversation so much, Mr. Ravenscourt, and yours, too, Sergeant Chiswick, but even the best of friends must part; as Anthony used to say when I bought him his first comb. Goodbye--goodbye."

She paused dramatically. "Oh, I nearly forgot my salts--my salts. It's most important. The doctor said that I should never go anywhere without my salts."

It was only by exercise of something approaching violence that the garrulous old lady was finally induced to enter her bedroom and the door closed upon her.

"If ever anyone ought to be certified," declared Harrison Smith blindly.

"I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen," said Anthony. "I don't imagine she will be long now."

"For everyone's sake I 'ope she ain't," Dirk contributed.

But as though to discount this pious ambition came a call from behind the closed door.

"Anthony, dear, Anthony! Will you ring the bell for Jane, please?"

"The bell is at your elbow," said Anthony. "It is for you to decide, sir, whether it should be rung."

Harrison Smith tugged at the bell pull viciously.

"And, Anthony, dear, will you bring me my motoring bonnet?"

Anthony pointed at the motoring bonnet lying on the table next to the rose basket, wherein, hidden by the stalks and leaves, was the morocco letter case.

"Take the d.a.m.n thing in yourself," said Harrison Smith.

It was Dirk who moved forward suspiciously as Barraclough picked up the bonnet and moved toward the bedroom. Harrison Smith waved him back.

"There's no other door. Keep a watch on the window," he ordered.

Anthony entered unmolested and at precisely that moment Bolt came in from the garden.

The united forces did not waste time in greetings.

"We've got him," said Harrison Smith. "He's in there with his mother."

This was evident enough, for the sound of their voices was audible, Mrs.

Barraclough's high pitched tones crying out:

"Don't sit on the bed, dear, it creases the quilt."

"Better look out," Bolt warned. "He's as slippery as an eel."

"Trust me, we're just waiting to get rid of the old woman, and then----"

The other door opened and Jane scampered in, crying:

"Did 'ee ring, marm, did 'ee ring?"

"Put that basket of roses in the car, Jane," Mrs. Barraclough replied, and as Jane turned to obey, from the garden in rushed Flora and Conybeare, calling on their mistress to hasten.

"Mrs. Bra.s.sbound, Mrs. Bra.s.sbound," cried Flora. "There's not a moment to lose."