“I suppose we ought to do something about it,” said Miles. “This is the most miserable day I ever spent. Did you get your fortune?”
“The Major was too drunk to recognize me. He’s just gone to sleep.”
“Well.”
“We must go to this beastly village and look for Agatha.”
“I can’t leave my Major. He’ll probably wake up soon and give the fortune to the first person he sees.”
“Let’s just go and shake him until he gives us the fortune now,” said Miles.
But this was impracticable, for when they reached the chair where Adam had left him, the drunk Major was gone.
The hall porter remembered him going out quite clearly. He had pressed a pound into his hand, saying, “Met-a-mutt-today,” and taken a taxi to the station.
“D’you know,” said Adam. “I don’t believe that I’m ever going to get that fortune.”
“Well, I don’t see that you’ve very much to complain of,” said Archie. “You’re no worse off than you were. I’ve lost a fiver and five bottles of champagne.”
“That’s true,” said Adam, a little consoled.
They got into the car and drove through the rain to the village where the Plunket-Bowse had been found. There it stood, still smoking and partially recognizable, surrounded by admiring villagers. A constable in a waterproof cape was doing his best to preserve it intact from the raids of souvenir hunters who were collecting the smaller fragments.
No one seemed to have witnessed the disaster. The younger members of the community were all at the races, while the elders were engaged in their afternoon naps. One thought he had heard a crash.
Inquiries at the railway station, however, disclosed that a young lady, much dishevelled in appearance, and wearing some kind of band on her arm, had appeared in the booking office early that afternoon and asked where she was. On being told, she said, well, she wished she wasn’t, because someone had left an enormous stone spanner in the middle of the road. She admitted feeling rather odd. The stationmaster had asked her if she would like to come in and sit down and offered to get her some brandy. She said, “No, no more brandy,” and bought a first-class ticket to London. She had left on the 3:25 train.
“So that’s all right,” said Archie.
Then they left the village and presently found an hotel on the Great North Road, where they dined and spent the night. They reached London by luncheon time next day, and learned that Miss Runcible had been found early that morning staring fixedly at a model engine in the central hall at Euston Station. In answer to some gentle questions, she replied that to the best of her knowledge she had no name, pointing to the brassard on her arm, as if in confirmation of this fact. She had come in a motor car, she explained, which would not stop. It was full of bugs which she had tried to kill with drops of face lotion. One of them threw a spanner. There had been a stone thing in the way. They shouldn’t put up symbols like that in the middle of the road, should they, or should they?
So they conveyed her to a nursing home in Wimpole Street and kept her for some time in a darkened room.
XI
Adam rang up Nina.
“Darling, I’ve been so happy about your telegram. Is it really true?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“The Major is bogus?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t got any money?”
“No.”
“We aren’t going to be married today?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“Well?”
“I said, I see.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all, Adam.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Nina.”
Later Nina rang up Adam.
“Darling, is that you? I’ve got something rather awful to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be furious.”
“Well?”
“I’m engaged to be married.”
“Who to?”
“I hardly think I can tell you.”
“Who?”
“Adam, you won’t be beastly about it, will you?”
“Who is it?”
“Ginger.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I am. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re going to marry Ginger?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“Well?”
“I said, I see.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all, Nina.”
“When shall I see you?”
“I don’t want ever to see you again.”
“I see.”
“Well?”
“I said, I see.”
“Well, goodbye.”
“Goodbye. … I’m sorry, Adam.”
XII
Ten days later Adam bought some flowers at the corner of Wigmore Street and went to call on Miss Runcible at her nursing home. He was shown first into the matron’s room. She had numerous photographs in silver frames and a very nasty fox terrier. She smoked a cigarette in a greedy way, making slight sucking noises.
“Just taking a moment off in my den,” she explained. “Down, Spot, down. But I can see you’re fond of dogs,” she added, as Adam gave Spot a halfhearted pat on the head. “So you want to see Miss Runcible? Well, I ought to warn you first that she must have no kind of excitement whatever. She’s had a severe shock. Are you a relation, may I ask?”
“No, only a friend.”
“A very special friend, perhaps, eh?” said the Matron archly. “Never mind, I’ll spare your blushes. Just you run up and see her. But not more than five minutes, mind, or you’ll have me on your tracks.”
There was a reek of ether on the stairs which reminded Adam of the times when, waiting to take her to luncheon, he had sat on Nina’s bed while she did her face. (She invariably made him turn his back until it was over, having a keen sense of modesty about this one part of her toilet, in curious contrast to some girls, who would die rather than be seen in their underclothes, and yet openly flaunt unpainted faces in front of anyone.)
It hurt Adam deeply to think much about Nina.
Outside Miss Runcible’s door hung a very interesting chart which showed the fluctuations
