The Prince and Betty by P. G. Wodehouse (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

"The Mrs. Oakley? The—er—philanthropist?"

"Don't laugh at her," said Betty quickly. "She was so good to me!"

"She passes," said John decidedly.

"And now," said Betty, "it's your turn."

John lighted another cigarette.

"My story," he said, "is rather longer. When they threw me out of Mervo—"

"What!"

"I'm afraid you don't keep abreast of European history," he said. "Haven't you heard of the great revolution in Mervo and the overthrow of the dynasty? Bloodless, but invigorating. The populace rose against me as one man—except good old General Poineau. He was for me, and Crump was neutral, but apart from them my subjects were unanimous. There's a republic again in Mervo now."

"But why? What had you done?"

"Well, I abolished the gaming-tables. But, more probably," he went on quickly, "they saw what a perfect dub I was in every—"

She interrupted him.

"Do you mean to say that, just because of me—?"

"Well," he said awkwardly, "as a matter of fact what you said did make me think over my position, and, of course, directly I thought over it—oh, well, anyway, I closed down gambling in Mervo, and then—"

"John!"

He was aware of a small hand creeping round the table under cover of the cloth. He pressed it swiftly, and, looking round, caught the eye of a hovering waiter, who swooped like a respectful hawk.

"Did you want anything, sir?"

"I've got it, thanks," said John.

The waiter moved away.

"Well, directly they had fired me, I came over here. I don't know what I expected to do. I suppose I thought I might find you by chance. I pretty soon saw how hopeless it was, and it struck me that, if I didn't get some work to do mighty quick, I shouldn't be much good to anyone except the alienists."

"Dear!"

The waiter stared, but John's eyes stopped him in mid-swoop.

"Then I found Smith—"

"Where is Mr. Smith?"

"In prison," said John with a chuckle.

"In prison!"

"He resisted and assaulted the police. I'll tell you about it later. Well, Smith told me of the alterations in Peaceful Moments, and I saw that it was just the thing for me. And it has occupied my mind quite some. To think of you being the writer of those Broster Street articles! You certainly have started something, Betty! Goodness knows where it will end. I hoped to have brought off a coup this afternoon, but the arrival of Sam and his friends just spoiled it."

"This afternoon? Yes, why were you there? What were you doing?"

"I was interviewing the collector of rents and trying to dig his employer's name out of him. It was Smith's idea. Smith's theory was that the owner of the tenements must have some special private reason for lying low, and that he would employ some special fellow, whom he could trust, as a rent-collector. And I'm pretty certain he was right. I cornered the collector, a little, rabbit-faced man named Gooch, and I believe he was on the point of—What's the matter?"

Betty's forehead was wrinkled. Her eyes wore a far-away expression.

"I'm trying to remember something. I seem to know the name, Gooch. And I seem to associate it with a little, rabbit-faced man. And—quick, tell me some more about him. He's just hovering about on the edge of my memory. Quick! Push him in!"

John threw his mind back to the interview in the dark passage, trying to reconstruct it.

"He's small," he said slowly. "His eyes protrude—so do his teeth—He—he—yes, I remember now—he has a curious red mark—"

"On his right cheek," said Betty triumphantly.

"By Jove!" cried John. "You've got him?"

"I remember him perfectly. He was—" She stopped with a little gasp.

"Yes?"

"John, he was one of my stepfather's secretaries," she said.

They looked at each other in silence.

"It can't be," said John at length.

"It can. It is. He must be. He has scores of interests everywhere. He prides himself on it. It's the most natural thing."

John shook his head doubtfully.

"But why all the fuss? Your stepfather isn't the man to mind public opinion—"

"But don't you see? It's as Mr. Smith said. The private reason. It's as clear as daylight. Naturally he would do anything rather than be found out. Don't you see? Because of Mrs. Oakley."

"Because of Mrs. Oakley?"

"You don't know her as I do. She is a curious mixture. She's double-natured. You called her the philanthropist just now. Well, she would be one, if—if she could bear to part with money. Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous. But it's so. She is mean about money, but she honestly hates to hear of anybody treating poor people badly. If my stepfather were really the owner of those tenements, and she should find it out, she would have nothing more to do with him. It's true. I know her."

The smile passed away from John's face.

"By George!" he said. "It certainly begins to hang together."

"I know I'm right."

"I think you are."

He sat meditating for a moment.

"Well?" he said at last.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are we to do? Do we go on with this?"

"Go on with it? I don't understand."

"I mean—well, it has become rather a family matter, you see. Do you feel as—warlike against Mr. Scobell as you did against an unknown lessee?"

Betty's eyes sparkled.

"I don't think I should feel any different if—if it was you," she said. "I've been spending days and days in those houses, John dear, and I've seen such utter squalor and misery, where there needn't be any at all if only the owner would do his duty, and—and—"

She stopped. Her eyes were misty.

"Thumbs down, in fact," said John, nodding. "I'm with you."

As he spoke, two men came down the broad staircase into the grill-room.