The cars were gone in a flash and succeeded by others.
“Agatha, darling, you shouldn’t have waved the blue flag.”
“My dear, how awful. Why not?”
“Well, that means that he’s to stop next lap.”
“Good God. Did I wave a blue flag?”
“My dear, you know you did.”
“How shaming. What am I to say to him?”
“Let’s all go away before he comes back.”
“D’you know, I think we’d better. He might be furious, mightn’t he? Let’s go to the tent and have another drink—don’t you think, or don’t you?”
So No. 13 pit was again deserted.
“What did I say?” said the mechanic. “The moment I heard we’d drawn this blinkin’ number I knew we was in for trouble.”
The first person they saw when they reached the refreshment tent was the drunk Major.
“Your boy friend again,” said Miles.
“Well, there you are,” said the Major. “D’you know I’ve been chasing you all over London. What have you been doing with yourself all this time?”
“I’ve been staying at Lottie’s.”
“Well, she said she’d never heard of you. You see, I don’t mind admitting I’d had a few too many that night, and to tell you the truth I woke up with things all rather a blur. Well then I found a thousand pounds in my pocket, and it all came back to me. There’d been a cove at Lottie’s who gave me a thousand pounds to put on Indian Runner. Well, as far as I knew, Indian Runner was no good. I didn’t want to lose your money for you, but the devil of it was I didn’t know you from Adam.” (“I think that’s a perfect joke,” said Miss Runcible.) “And apparently Lottie didn’t either. You’d have thought it was easy enough to trace the sort of chap who deals out thousands of pounds to total strangers, but I couldn’t find one fingerprint.”
“Do you mean,” said Adam, a sudden delirious hope rising in his heart, “that you’ve still got my thousand?”
“Not so fast,” said the Major. “I’m spinning this yarn. Well, on the day of the race I didn’t know what to do. One half of me said, keep the thousand. The chap’s bound to turn up some time, and it’s his business to do his own punting—the other half said, put it on the favourite for him and give him a run for his money.”
“So you put it on the favourite?” Adam’s heart felt like lead again.
“No, I didn’t. In the end I said, well, the young chap must be frightfully rich. If he likes to throwaway his money, it’s none of my business, so I planked it all on Indian Runner for you.”
“You mean …”
“I mean I’ve got the nice little packet of thirty-five thou. waiting until you condescend to call for it.”
“Good heavens … look here, have a drink, won’t you?”
“That’s a thing I never refuse.”
“Archie, lend me some money until I get this fortune.”
“How much?”
“Enough to buy five bottles of champagne.”
“Yes, if you can get them.”
The barmaid had a case of champagne at the back of the tent. (“People often feel queer through watching the cars go by so fast—ladies especially,” she explained.) So they took a bottle each and sat on the side of the hill and drank to Adam’s prosperity.
“Hullo, everybody,” said the loud speaker. “Car No. 28, the Italian Omega, driven by Captain Marino, has just completed the course in twelve minutes one second, lapping at an average speed of 78.3 miles per hour. This is the fastest time yet recorded.”
A burst of applause greeted this announcement, but Adam said, “I’ve rather lost interest in this race.”
“Look here, old boy,” the Major said when they were well settled down, “I’m rather in a hole. Makes me feel an awful ass, saying so, but the truth is I got my notecase pinched in the crowd. Of course, I’ve got plenty of small change to see me back to the hotel and they’ll take a cheque of mine there, naturally, but the fact is I was keen to make a few bets with some chaps I hardly know. I wonder, old boy, could you possibly lend me a fiver? I can give it to you at the same time as I hand over the thirty-five thousand.”
“Why, of course,” said Adam. “Archie, lend me a fiver, can you?”
“Awfully good of you,” said the Major, tucking the notes into his hip pocket. “Would it be all the same if you made it a tenner while we’re about it?”
“I’m sorry,” said Archie, with a touch of coldness. “I’ve only just got enough to get home with.”
“That’s all right, old boy, I understand. Not another word. … Well, here’s to us all.”
“I was on the course at the November Handicap,” said Adam. “I thought I saw you.”
“It would have saved a lot of fuss if we’d met, wouldn’t it? Still, all’s well that end’s well.”
“What an angelic man your Major is,” said Miss Runcible.
When they had finished their champagne, the Major—now indisputably drunk—rose to go.
“Look here, old boy,” he said. “I must be toddling along now. Got to see some chaps. Thanks no end for the binge. So jolly having met you all again. Bye-bye, little lady.”
“When shall we meet again?” said Adam.
“Any time, old boy. Tickled to death to see you any time you care to drop in. Always a pew and a drink for old friends. So long everybody.”
“But couldn’t I come and see you soon? About the money, you know.”
“Sooner the better, old boy. Though I don’t know what you mean about money.”
“My thirty-five thousand.”
“Why, yes, to be sure. Fancy my forgetting that. I tell you what. You roll along tonight to the Imperial and I’ll give it to you then. Jolly glad to get it off my chest. Seven o’clock at the American bar—or a little before.”
“Let’s go back and look at the motor cars,” said Archie.
They went down the hill feeling buoyant and detached (as one should if one drinks a great deal before luncheon). When they reached the pits
