“No,” said Paul. “No, sir, I’m afraid it would be impossible. I hope I don’t appear rude, but—no, really, I’m afraid …”
“That’s all right, my dear boy. Not another word! I quite understand. I was afraid that would be your answer. Well, it must be Grimes, then. I don’t think it would be any use approaching Mr. Prendergast.”
“It was very kind of you to suggest it, sir.”
“Not at all, not at all. The wedding shall take place a week today. You might tell Grimes that if you see him. I don’t want to have more to do with him than I can help. I wonder whether it would be a good thing to give a small party?” For a moment a light sprang up in Dr. Fagan’s eyes and then died out. “No, no, there will be no party. The sports were not encouraging. Poor little Lord Tangent is still laid up, I hear.”
Paul returned to the Common Room with the Doctor’s message.
“Hell!” said Grimes. “I still hoped it might fall through.”
“What d’you want for a wedding present?” Paul asked.
Grimes brightened. “What about that binge you promised me and Prendy?”
“All right!” said Paul. “We’ll have it tomorrow.”
The Hotel Metropole, Cwmpryddyg, is by far the grandest hotel in the north of Wales. It is situated on a high and healthy eminence overlooking the strip of water that railway companies have gallantly compared to the Bay of Naples. It was built in the ample days preceding the war, with a lavish expenditure on looking-glass and marble. Today it shows signs of wear, for it has never been quite as popular as its pioneers hoped. There are cracks in the cement on the main terrace, the winter garden is draughty, and one comes disconcertingly upon derelict bath-chairs in the Moorish Court. Besides this, none of the fountains ever plays, the string band that used to perform nightly in the ballroom has given place to a very expensive wireless set which one of the waiters knows how to operate, there is never any notepaper in the writing-room, and the sheets are not long enough for the beds. Philbrick pointed out these defects to Paul as he sat with Grimes and Mr. Prendergast drinking cocktails in the Palm Court before dinner.
“And it isn’t as though it was really cheap,” he said. Philbrick had become quite genial during the last few days. “Still, one can’t expect much in Wales, and it is something. I can’t live without some kind of luxury for long. I’m not staying this evening, or I’d ask you fellows to dine with me.”
“Philbrick, old boy,” said Grimes, “me and my pals here have been wanting a word with you for some time. How about those yarns you spun about your being a shipowner and a novelist and a burglar?”
“Since you mention it,” said Philbrick with dignity, “they were untrue. One day you shall know my full story. It is stranger than any fiction. Meanwhile I have to be back at the Castle. Good night.”
“He certainly seems quite a swell here,” said Grimes as they watched him disappear into the night escorted with every obsequy by the manager and the headwaiter. “I dare say he could tell a story if he wanted to.”
“I believe it’s their keys,” said Mr. Prendergast suddenly. It was the first time that he had spoken. For twenty minutes he had been sitting very upright in his gilt chair and very alert, his eyes unusually bright, darting this way and that in his eagerness to miss nothing of the gay scene about him.
“What’s their keys, Prendy?”
“Why, the things they get given at the counter. I thought for a long time it was money.”
“Is that what’s been worrying you? Bless your heart, I thought it was the young lady in the office you were after.”
“Oh, Grimes!” said Mr. Prendergast, and he blushed warmly and gave a little giggle.
Paul led his guests into the dining-room.
“I haven’t taught French for nothing all these years,” said Grimes, studying the menu. “I’ll start with some jolly old huîtres.”
Mr. Prendergast ate a grapefruit with some difficulty. “What a big orange!” he said when he had finished it. “They do things on a large scale here.”
The soup came in little aluminium bowls. “What price the ancestral silver?” said Grimes. The Manchester merchants on the spree who sat all round them began to look a little askance at Paul’s table.
“Someone’s doing himself well on bubbly,” said Grimes as a waiter advanced staggering under the weight of an ice-pail from which emerged a Jeroboam of champagne. “Good egg! It’s coming to us.”
“With Sir Solomon Philbrick’s compliments to Captain Grimes and congratulations on his approaching marriage, sir.”
Grimes took the waiter by the sleeve. “See here, old boy, this Sir Solomon Philbrick—know him well?”
“He’s here quite frequently, sir.”
“Spends a lot of money, eh?”
“He doesn’t entertain at all, but he always has the best of everything himself, sir.”
“Does he pay his bill?”
“I really couldn’t say, I’m afraid, sir. Would you be requiring anything else?”
“All right, old boy! Don’t get sniffy. Only he’s a pal of mine, see?”
“Really, Grimes,” said Mr. Prendergast, “I am afraid you made him quite annoyed with your questions, and that stout man over there is staring at us in the most marked way.”
“I’ve got a toast to propose. Prendy, fill up your glass. Here’s to Trumpington, whoever he is, who gave us the money for this binge!”
“And here’s to Philbrick,” said Paul, “whoever he is!”
“And here’s to Miss Fagan,” said Mr. Prendergast, “with our warmest hopes for her future happiness!”
“Amen,” said Grimes.
After the soup the worst sort of sole.
