'I'm afraid I was a bit late coming down,' said Mr. Wade with engaging frankness. 'It's an extraordinary thing, but wherever I happen to be staying, I'm always last to be down.'
'Very extraordinary,' said Lady Coote.
'I don't know why it is,' said Mr. Wade, meditating. 'I can't think, I'm sure.'
'Why don't you just get up?' suggested Lady Coote.
'Oh!' said Mr. Wade. The simplicity of the solution rather took him aback.
Lady Coote went on earnestly.
'I've heard Sir Oswald say so many times that's there's nothing for getting a young man on in the world like punctual habits.'
'Oh, I know,' said Mr. Wade. 'And I have to when I'm in town. I mean, I have to be round at the jolly old Foreign Office by eleven o'clock . You mustn't think I'm always a slacker, Lady Coote. I say, what awfully jolly flowers you've got down in that lower border. I can't remember the names of them, but we've got some at home – those mauve thingummybobs. My sister's tremendously keen on gardening.'
Lady Coote was immediately diverted. Her wrongs rankled within her.
'What kind of gardeners do you have?'
'Oh just one. Rather an old fool, I believe. Doesn't know much, but he does what he's told. And that's a great thing, isn't it?'
Lady Coote agreed that it was with a depth of feeling in her voice that would have been invaluable to her as an emotional actress.
They began to discourse on the iniquities of gardeners.
Meanwhile the expedition was doing well. The principal emporium of Market Basing had been invaded and the sudden demand for alarm clocks was considerably puzzling the proprietor.
'I wish we'd got Bundle here,' murmured Bill. 'You know her, don't you, Jimmy? Oh, you'd like her. She's a splendid girl – a real good sport – and mark you, she's got brains too. You know her, Ronny?'
Ronny shook his head.
'Don't know Bundle? Where have you been vegetating? She's simply it.'
'Be a bit more subtle, Bill,' said Socks. 'Stop blethering about your lady friends and get on with the business.'
Mr. Murgatroyd, owner of Murgatroyd's Stores, burst into eloquence.
'If you'll allow me to advise you, Miss, I should say – not the 7/11 one. It's a good clock – I'm not running it down, mark you, but I should strongly advise this kind at 10/6. Well worth the extra money. Reliability, you understand. I shouldn't like you to say afterwards –'
It was evident to everybody that Mr. Murgatroyd must be turned off like a tap.
'We don't want a reliable clock,' said Nancy .
'It's got to go for one day, that's all,' said Helen.
'We don't want a subtle one,' said Socks. 'We want one with a good loud ring.'
'We want –' began Bill, but was unable to finish, because Jimmy, who was of a mechanical turn of mind, had at last grasped the mechanism. For the next five minutes the shop was hideous with the loud raucous ringing of many alarm clocks.
In the end six excellent starters were selected.
'And I'll tell you what,' said Ronny handsomely, 'I'll get one for Pongo. It was his idea, and it's a shame that he should be out of it. He shall be represented among those present.'
'That's right,' said Bill. 'And I'll take an extra one for Lady Coote. The more the merrier. And she's doing some of the spade work. Probably gassing away to old Gerry now.'
Indeed at this precise moment Lady Coote was detailing a long story about MacDonald and a prize peach and enjoying herself very much.
The clocks were wrapped up and paid for.
Mr. Murgatroyd watched the cars drive away with a puzzled air. Very spirited the young people of the upper classes nowadays, very spirited indeed, but not at all easy to understand. He turned with relief to attend to the vicar's wife, who wanted a new kind of dripless teapot.
CONCERNING ALARM CLOCKS
'Now, where shall we put them?'
Dinner was over. Lady Coote had been once more detailed for duty. Sir Oswald had unexpectedly come to the rescue by suggesting bridge – not that suggesting is the right word. Sir Oswald, as became one of 'Our Captains of Industry' (No. 7 of Series I), merely expressed a preference and those around him hastened to accommodate themselves to the great man's wishes.
Rupert Bateman and Sir Oswald were partners against Lady Coote and Gerald Wade, which was a very happy arrangement.
Sir Oswald played bridge, like he did everything else, extremely well, and liked a partner to correspond. Bateman was as efficient a bridge player as he was a secretary. Both of them confined themselves strictly to the matter in hand, merely uttering in curt short barks, 'Two no trumps,' 'Double,' 'Three spades.' Lady Coote and Gerald Wade were amiable and discursive, and the young man never failed to say at the conclusion of each hand, 'I say, partner, you played that simply splendidly,' in tones of simple admiration which Lady Coote found both novel and extremely soothing. They also held very good cards.
The others were supposed to be dancing to the wireless in the big ballroom. In reality they were grouped around the door of Gerald Wade's bedroom, and the air was full of subdued giggles and the loud ticking of clocks.
'Under the bed in a row,' suggested Jimmy in answer to Bill's question.
'And what shall we set them at? What time, I mean? All together so that there's one glorious what not, or at intervals?'
The point was hotly disputed. One party argued that for a champion sleeper like Gerry Wade the combined ringing of eight alarm clocks was necessary. The other party argued in favour of steady and sustained effort.
In the end the latter won the day. The clocks were set to go off one after the other, starting at 6:30 a.m.
'And I hope,' said Bill virtuously, 'that this will be a lesson to him.'
'Hear, hear,' said Socks.
The business of hiding the clocks was just being begun when there was a sudden alarm.
'Hist,' cried Jimmy. 'Somebody's coming up the stairs.'
There was a panic.
'It's all right,' said Jimmy. 'It's only Pongo.'
Taking advantage of being dummy, Mr. Bateman was going to his room for a handkerchief. He paused on his way and took in the situation at a glance. He then made a comment, a simple and practical one.
'He will hear them ticking when he goes to bed.'
The conspirators looked at each other.
'What did I tell you?' said Jimmy in a reverent voice. 'Pongo always did have brains!'
The brainy one passed on.
'It's true,' admitted Ronny Devereux, his hand on one side. 'Eight clocks all ticking at once do make a devil of a row. Even old Gerry, ass as he is, couldn't miss it. He'll guess something's up.'
'I wonder if he is,' said Jimmy Thesiger.
'Is what?'
'Such an ass as we all think.'
Ronny stared at him.
'We all know old Gerald.'
'Do we?' said Jimmy. 'I've sometimes thought that – well, that it isn't possible for anyone to be quite the ass
