He would still have the satisfaction of watching her--seeing her skin thicken, her body coarsen, her hair fall out, her eyes grow vacant, her speech die away into mere animal noises, her brain go to mush, her habits--'
'Stop it, Wimsey.'
'Well, you saw it all yourself. But that wouldn't be enough for him. So, every so often, he would feed her the thyroid again and bring her back sufficiently to realise her own degradation--'
'If only I had the brute here!'
'Just as well you haven't. Well then, one day--by a stroke of luck--Mr Langley, the amorous Mr Langley, actually turns up. What a triumph to let him see--'
Langley stopped him again.
'Right-ho! but it was ingenious, wasn't it? So simple. The more I think of it, the more it fascinates me. But it was just that extra refinement of cruelty that defeated him. Because, when you told me the story, I couldn't help recognising the symptoms of thyroid deficiency, and I thought, 'Just supposing'--so I hunted up the chemist whose name you saw on the parcel, and, after unwinding a lot of red tape, got him to admit that he had several times sent Wetherall consignments of thyroid extract. So then I was almost sure, don't you see.
'I got a doctor's advice and a supply of gland extract, hired a tame Spanish conjurer and some performing cats and things, and barged off complete with disguise and a trick cabinet devised by the ingenious Mr Devant. I'm a bit of a conjurer myself, and between us we didn't do so badly. The local superstitions helped, of course, and so did the gramophone records. Schubert's 'Unfinished' is first class for producing an atmosphere of gloom and mystery, so are luminous paint and the remnants of a classical education.'
'Look here, Wimsey, will she get all right again?'
'Right as ninepence, and I imagine that any American court would give her a divorce on the grounds of persistent cruelty. After that--it's up to you!'
Lord Peter's friends greeted his reappearance in London with mild surprise.
'And what have you been doing with yourself?' demanded the Hon. Freddy Arbuthnot.
'Eloping with another man's wife,' replied his lordship. 'But only,' he hastened to add, 'in a purely Pickwickian sense. Nothing in it for yours truly. Oh, well! Let's toddle round to the Holborn Empire, and see what George Robey can do for us.'
THE QUEEN'S SQUARE
A Lord Peter Wimsey Story
............
PLAN OF THE BALL-ROOM
A, Stair to Dressing-room and Gallery; B, Stair to Gallery; C, Stair to Musicians' Gallery only; D, Settee where Joan Carstairs sat; E, Settee where Jim Playfair sat; F, Where Waits stood; G, Where Ephraim Dodd sat; H, Guests' 'Sir Roger'; J, Servants' 'Sir Roger'; X X, Hanging Lanterns; O O O O, Arcading.
'You Jack o' Di'monds, you Jack o' Di'monds,' said Mark Sambourne, shaking a reproachful head, 'I know you of old.' He rummaged beneath the white satin of his costume, panelled with gigantic oblongs and spotted to represent a set of dominoes. 'Hang this fancy rig! Where the blazes has the fellow put my pockets? You rob my pocket, yes, you rob-a my pocket, you rob my pocket of silver and go-ho-hold. How much do you make it?' He extracted a fountain-pen and a cheque-book.
'Five-seventeen-six,' said Lord Peter Wimsey. 'That's right, isn't it, partner?' His huge blue-and-scarlet sleeves rustled as he turned to Lady Hermione Creethorpe, who, in her Queen of Clubs costume, looked a very redoubtable virgin, as, indeed, she was.
'Quite right,' said the old lady, 'and I consider that very cheap.'
'We haven't been playing long,' said Wimsey apologetically.
'It would have been more, Auntie,' observed Mrs Wrayburn, 'if you hadn't been greedy. You shouldn't have doubled those four spades of mine.'
Lady Hermione snorted, and Wimsey hastily cut in:
'It's a pity we've got to stop, but Deverill will never forgive us if we're not there to dance Sir Roger. He feels strongly about it. What's the time? Twenty past one. Sir Roger is timed to start sharp at half-past. I suppose we'd better tootle back to the ballroom.'
'I suppose we had,' agreed Mrs Wrayburn. She stood up, displaying her dress, boldly patterned with red and black points of a backgammon board. 'It's very good of you,' she added, as Lady Hermione's voluminous skirts swept through the hall ahead of them, 'to chuck your dancing to give Auntie her bridge. She does so hate to miss it.'
'Not at all,' replied Wimsey. 'It's a pleasure. And in any case I was jolly glad of a rest. These costumes are dashed hot for dancing in.'
'You make a splendid Jack of Diamonds, though. Such a good idea of Lady Deverill's, to make everybody come as a game. It cuts out all those wearisome pierrots and columbines.' They skirted the south-west angle of the ballroom and emerged into the south corridor, lit by a great hanging lantern in four lurid colours. Under the arcading they paused and stood watching the floor, where Sir Charles Deverill's guests were fox-trotting to a lively tune discoursed by the band in the musicians' gallery at the far end. 'Hullo, Giles!' added Mrs Wrayburn, 'you look hot.'
'I am hot,' said Giles Pomfret. 'I wish to goodness I hadn't been so clever about this infernal costume. It's a beautiful billiard-table, but I can't sit down in it.' He mopped his heated brow, crowned with an elegant green lamp-shade. 'The only rest I can get is to hitch my behind on a radiator, and as they're all in full blast, it's not very cooling. Thank goodness, I can always make these damned sandwich boards an excuse to get out of dancing.' He propped himself against the nearest column, looking martyred.
'Nina Hartford comes off best,' said Mrs Wrayburn. 'Waterpolo--so sensible--just a bathing-dress and a ball; though I must say it would look better on a less Restoration figure. You playing-cards are much the prettiest, and I think the chess-pieces run you close. There goes Gerda Bellingham, dancing with her husband--isn't she too marvellous in that red wig? And the bustle and everything--my dear, so attractive. I'm glad they didn't make themselves too Lewis Carroll; Charmian Grayle is the sweetest White Queen--where is she, by the way?'
'I don't like that young woman,' said Lady Hermione; 'she's fast.'
'Dear lady!'
'I've no doubt you think me old-fashioned. Well, I'm glad I am. I say she's fast, and, what's more, heartless. I was watching her before supper, and I'm sorry for Tony Lee. She's been flirting as hard as she can go with Harry Vibart--not to give it a worse name--and she's got Jim Playfair on a string, too. She can't even leave Frank Bellingham alone, though she's staying in his house.'
'Oh, I say, Lady H!' protested Sambourne, 'you're a bit hard on Miss Grayle. I mean, she's an awfully sporting kid and all that.'
'I detest that word 'sporting',' snapped Lady Hermione. 'Nowadays it merely means drunk and disorderly. And she's not such a kid either, young man. In three years' time she'll be a hag, if she goes on at this rate.'
'Dear Lady Hermione,' said Wimsey, 'we can't all be untouched by time, like you.'
'You could,' retorted the old lady, 'if you looked after your stomachs and your morals. Here comes Frank Bellingham--looking for a drink, no doubt. Young people today seem to be positively pickled in gin.'
The fox-trot had come to an end, and the Red King was threading his way towards them through a group of applauding couples.
'Hullo, Bellingham!' said Wimsey. 'Your crown's crooked. Allow me.' He set wig and head-dress to rights with skilful fingers. 'Not that I blame you. What crown is safe in these Bolshevik days?'
'Thanks,' said Bellingham. 'I say, I want a drink.'
'What did I tell you?' said Lady Hermione.
'Buzz along, then, old man,' said Wimsey. 'You've got four minutes. Mind you turn up in time for Sir Roger.'
