Jonah and Co.

by Dornford Yates

CHAPTER IV

HOW BERRY MADE AN ENGAGEMENT, JILL A PICTURE, AND ADÈLE A SLIP OF SOME IMPORTANCE

A natural result of our traffic with Planchet was that we became temporarily suspicious and careful to a fault. The horse had been stolen. For the next three weeks we locked not only the stable door, but every single door to which a key could be fitted—and suffered accordingly. In a word, our convenience writhed. To complete our discomfort, if ever one of us jibbed, the others were sure to lay the lash about his shoulders. The beginning of the end arrived one fine February day.

An early breakfast had made us ready for lunch. As we were taking our seats—

"Are the cars locked?" said Daphne.

Adèle held up a key.

"Pong is," she said.

My sister fumed to Jonah.

"And Ping?"

My cousin shook his head.

"No," he said shortly. "I omitted the precaution. If this was Paris, instead of Pau, if the cars were standing in an undesirable thoroughfare, instead of in the courtyard of the English Club, if——"

"It's all very well," said Daphne, "but you know what happened to the
Rolls."

Berry frowned.

"Any reference," he said, "to that distressing incident is bad for my heart." He turned to Jonah. "As for you, you've lodged your protest, which will receive the deepest consideration. I shall dwell upon it during the soup. And now push off and lock the vehicle. I know Love laughs at locksmiths, but the average motor-thief's sense of humour is less susceptible."

When his sister threw her entreaties into the scale, my cousin took the line of least resistance and rose to his feet.

"For converting a qualified blessing into an unqualified curse," he said bitterly, "you three alarmists take the complete cracknel. Since the locks were fitted, I've done nothing but turn the key from morning till night. Before the beastly things were thought of, the idea of larceny never entered your heads."

The indignation with which his words were received would have been more pronounced if we had had the room to ourselves. As it was, Jonah made his way to the door amid an enraged murmur of expostulation, whose temper was aggravated by suppression almost to bursting-point.

There was much to be said for both points of view.

It was a fact that since the theft of the Rolls we had never felt easy about leaving a car unattended. Yet, though we had often discussed the matter, nothing had been done. Now, however, that we were in a strange country, where the tracing of a stolen car would, for a variety of reasons, be an extremely difficult undertaking, and staying withal only a handful of miles from the Spanish frontier, we all felt that action of some sort must be taken without delay.

An attempt to enlist the services of the Sealyham as a custodian had failed ignominiously. In the first place, unless fastened, he had flatly declined to stay with either of the cars. The expedient of closing one of these altogether and leaving Nobby within had proved quite as unsatisfactory and more humiliating. Had we been able to eradicate from the dog's mind the conviction that he was being wrongfully imprisoned, the result might have been different. As it was, after barking furiously for five minutes, he had recourse to reprisal and, hardly waiting to remove the paper in which it was wrapped, devoured half a kilogramme of ripe Brie with a revengeful voracity to which the condition of the interior of the car bore hideous witness. Finally, when the urchin who was in our confidence, and had engaged for the sum of five francs to endeavour to enter the car, opened its door, the captive leaped out joyously and, after capering with delight at his delivery, wiped his mouth enthusiastically upon a tire and started on a reconnaissance of the neighbourhood in the hope of encountering his gaolers. As for the car, our employee might have driven it into the blue….

In the end, it was decided that a lock attached to the steering-column would offer the best security. Accordingly, a device was sent for, fitted to each of the cars, and proved. So far as we could see, there was no fault in it. Once the key was withdrawn, the car concerned was useless. It could be driven, certainly, but it could not be steered. Indeed, short of getting it upon a trolley or taking 'the steering' down, its asportation could not be compassed.

New brooms sweep clean.

Delighted with the realisation that theft could now be erased from the list of terrors of motoring, the girls insisted upon the observance of the new rite upon every possible occasion. As drivers of long standing, Jonah and I found this eagerness hard to indulge. Use holds, and, try as we would, it was absurdly difficult to remember to do as we had never done before, whenever we evacuated a car. Often enough, as now, it was a work of supererogation.

Berry turned to me.

"I observe," he said, "that for once you have not advanced your opinion. Is this because you realise that it's valueless? Or won't your mouth work?"

"Jonah was right," said I. "Insurance has its advantages, but you don't register every letter you post. The truth is, what little sense of proportion you have is failing. Of course you're not as young as you were, and then, again, you eat too much."

"In other words," said my brother-in-law, "you attribute caution to the advance of old age and gluttony. I see. To which of your physical infirmities do you ascribe a superabundance of treachery and bile?"

"That," said I, "is due to external influence. The sewer-gas of your temperament——"

"I refuse," said Berry, "to sit still and hear my soul compared to a drain at the very outset of what promises to be a toothsome repast. It might affect my appetite."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Needless anxiety again," I sighed. "I don't know what's the matter with you to-day."

"By the way," said Daphne, "I quite forgot. Did you cash your cheque?"

"I did," said her husband.

"What did they give you?" said Jill.

"Fifty-three francs to the pound."

"Fifty-three?" cried Daphne and Adèle in horror-stricken tones.

"Fifty-three francs dead. If I'd cashed it yesterday, as, but for your entreaties, I should have done, I should have got fifty-six."

"But when you found it was down, why didn't you wait?"

"In the first place," retorted my brother-in-law, "it isn't down; it's up. In the second place, I was down—to four francs twenty-five. In the third place, to-morrow it may be up to fifty."

"It's much more likely to go back to fifty-five."

"My dear girl," said Berry, "with the question of likelihood the movements of the comic Exchange have nothing to do. It's a law unto itself. Compared with the Money Market of to-day, Monte Carlo's a Sunday-school. I admit we'd have more of a show if we didn't get the paper a day late…. Still, that makes it more sporting."

"I don't see any sport in losing six hundred francs," said his wife. "It's throwing away money." Here my cousin reappeared. "Jonah, why did you let him do it?"

"Do what?" said Jonah.

"Cash such a cheque when the franc's dropped."

"It hasn't," said Jonah. "It's risen."

"How," piped Jill, "can it have risen when it's gone down?"

"It hasn't gone down," said I.

"But fifty-three's less than fifty-six."

"Let me explain," said Berry, taking an olive from a dish. "You see that salt-cellar?"

"Yes," said Jill, staring.

"Well, that represents a dollar. The olive is a franc, and this here roll is a pound." He cleared his throat. "When the imports exceed the exports, the roll rises"—up went his hand—"as good bread should. But when the exports exceed the imports, or the President backs a winner, or something, then the olive begins to soar. In a word, the higher the fewer."

Jill passed a hand across her sweet pretty brow.

"But what's the salt-cellar got to do with it?"

"Nothing whatever," said Berry. "That was to distract your attention."

Jill choked with indignation.

"I'll never ask you anything again," she said severely. "After all, if you can't help yourself, it isn't likely you can help me. And, any way, I wouldn't have been so silly as to go and cash a cheque when the franc had gone down."

"Up," said I relentlessly.

"But how can it——"

"Look here," said I. "Imagine that all the francs in the world have turned into herrings."

"What a joy shopping would be!" said Berry.

"Yes," said Jill faithfully.

"Well, on Monday you go and buy a pound's worth of herrings. Fish is plentiful, so you get fifty-six."

"Yes."

"During the night herrings rise."

"Get quite high," said Berry. "You have to get out of bed and put your purse on the landing."

Adèle began to shake with laughter.

"Yes," said Jill earnestly.

"So that the next morning," I continued desperately, "when you come to buy another pound's worth of herrings, you only get fifty-three."

"That's right," said Berry. "And while you're trying to decide whether to have one or two pounds, they turn into bananas. Then you are done."

Jonah took up the cudgels.

"It's perfectly simple," he said. "Think of a thermometer."

Jill took a deep breath.

Then—

"Yes," she said.

"Well, on Monday you find it's fifty-six. On Tuesday you look at it again, and find it's fifty-three. That means it's gone down, doesn't it?"

"Yes," said his sister hopefully.

"Well, with the franc it's just the opposite. It means it's gone up."

"Yes."

"That's all," said Jonah brutally.

Jill looked from him to Daphne and from Daphne to Adèle—dazedly. The former put a hand to her head.

"My dear," she said, "I can't help you. Before they started explaining, I had a rough idea of how the thing worked. Now I'm confused for ever. If they are to be believed, in future we've got to say 'up' when we feel inclined to say 'down.' But don't ask me why."

She stopped to speak with a member who was leaving the room and had come to pay his respects. After a word or two—

"Visitors' weather," he said. "Perfect, isn't it? But, I say, what a fall in the franc! Three points in a day…. Never mind. It'll go up again."

He made his adieus and passed on.

It was no good saying anything.

A prophet is not without honour, save in his own country.

* * * * *

It was three days later that we were bowling along the road to Biarritz.

The morning was full and good to look upon. Sun, sky, and air offered the best they had. To match their gifts, a green and silver earth strained at the leash of Winter with an eager heart. The valleys smiled, high places lifted up their heads, the hasty Gave de Pau swirled on its shining way, a laughing sash of snow-broth, and all the countryside glowed with the cheerful aspect of a well-treated slave.

Wide, straight, and level, the well-built road thrust through the beaming landscape with a directness that took Distance by the throat. The surface improving as we left Pau behind, I drew on the seven-league boots—surreptitiously. Very soon we were flying…. With a steady purr of contentment, Pong, tuned to a hair, swallowed the flashing miles so easily that pace was robbed of its sting.

A dot on the soft bullock-walk that edged the road grew with fantastic swiftness into an ox-waggon, loomed for an instant life-size, and was gone. A speck ahead leapt into the shape of a high-wheeled gig, jogged for a moment to meet us, and vanished into space. A dolls'-house by the wayside swelled into a villa … a château … a memory of tall thin windows ranged in a white wall. The future swooped into the present, only to be flicked into the past. The seven-league boots were getting into their stride.

Then came a level-crossing with the barriers drawn….

For a minute the lady responsible for the obstructions seemed uncertain whether to withdraw them or no. After a long look up the line, however, she decided against us and shook her head with a benevolent smile.

"Le train arrive," she explained.

With a sigh, I stopped the engine and lighted a cigarette….

"What exactly," said Daphne, "did Evelyn say?"

"That," said Berry, "as I have already endeavoured to point out, will always remain a matter for conjecture. We addressed one another for more than twenty minutes, but our possession of the line was disputed effectively during the whole of that period."

"Well, what did you hear her say?"

"I heard her say 'Yes' twice, and 'Delighted,' and 'One o'clock.' I'm almost certain that towards the end of our communion she said, 'Oh, hell!' Having regard to the prevailing conditions, she may be forgiven."

Daphne sighed.

"Well, I suppose she expects us," she said. "After all, that's the main thing. You made her understand it was to-day, didn't you?"

"That," was the reply, "remains to be seen. If I didn't, it's not my fault. It's no good pretending that 'Wednesday's' a good word to shout, but I made the most of it. I also said 'Woden's Day' with great clarity, and 'Mardi.'"

"Mardi?" shrieked his wife.

"Oh, much louder than that."

"B-but that's Tuesday!"

Berry started guiltily.

"I—I mean 'Mercredi,'" he said hurriedly.

I began to shake with merriment.

Suspiciously my sister regarded her husband.

"Which did you say?" she demanded.

"'Mercredi.'"

"I don't believe a word of it," cried Daphne. "You said 'Mardi.'
You know you did."

Here a seemingly interminable freight-train started to lumber across our path….

As the rumble began to die—

"I think," said I, "he must have got 'Wednesday' through. Otherwise
Evelyn would have rung up last night."

Berry drew a case from his pocket and offered me a cigar. Then he turned to my sister and protruded his tongue….

We had known Evelyn Fairie for years. It was natural that we should wish to know Evelyn Swetecote. That wedlock could have diminished her charm was not to be thought of. But we were forgivably curious to see her in the married state and to make the acquaintance of the man whom she had chosen out of so many suitors. Little knowing that we were at Pau, Evelyn had written to us from Biarritz. In due season her letter had arrived, coming by way of Hampshire. An answer in the shape of a general invitation to lunch had brought not so much a refusal as a definite counter-proposal that we should suggest a day and come to Biarritz. In reply, the services of the telephone had been requisitioned, and, if my brother-in-law was to be believed, Mrs. Swetecote had been advised to expect us on Wednesday.

In any event, expected or unexpected, here were we, all six, upon the road—my wife and cousins in one car, and Daphne, Berry, and I within the other.

As we swung into the paved streets of Orthez—

"And when," said Berry, "when am I to drive?"

"From Peyrehorade," I replied.

"Oh. I suppose that's where the stones begin, or the road stops, or something."

I shook my head.

"Not that I know of. And you can drive all the way back. But—well, there's a hill or two coming, and—and I'd like just to take her so far," I concluded lamely.

But for my sister's presence, I would have told him the truth. This was that I had bet Jonah that I could get from Orthez to Peyrehorade in twenty minutes. The distance was exactly thirty kilometres, and the road was perfect. There were no corners, and the bends were few. There were hills, certainly; but these were straightforward enough and could be taken, so to speak, in our stride. Moreover, there were no cross-roads, and only two turnings worth thinking about. To some cars the feat would have been nothing. Whether it was within the reach of Ping and Pong remained to be seen….

As we left Orthez, I looked at my watch.

Ten minutes to eleven.

I laid hold of the wheel….

To this hour I cannot tell why Daphne did not exercise the prerogative of a passenger and protest against the pace. But neither at the time or thereafter did she so much as mention it. Berry confessed later that he had been frightened to death.

Three kilometres out, there was a bend, and the needle of the speedometer, which, after rising steadily, had come to rest against the stop, retreated momentarily to record fifty-five…. We sang past a wayside farm, dropped into a valley, soared up the opposite side, flashed in and out of an apparently deserted village, shot up a long incline, and slowed up for a curve…. Then some poultry demanded consideration. As we left them behind, the agitation of two led horses necessitated a still further reduction of speed. We lost such time as I had made, and more also. Still, we were going downhill, and, as if impatient of the check, the car sprang forward…. We rose from the bottom with the smooth rush of a non-stop elevator. As we breasted the rise, I saw another and steeper dale before us. The road was becoming a switchback….

At the top of the opposite hill was a big grey cabriolet coming towards us. At the foot was a panting lorry going our way. An approaching Ford was about to pass it. The cabriolet and Pong fell down their respective slopes….

The Ford was abreast of the lorry, and the cabriolet was prepared to pass the two when we arrived. It was a question of giving way—at least, it ought to have been. It was, however, too late. Happily, there was more room than time at our disposal—a very little more. There was no time at all….

For one never-to-be-forgotten instant there were four vehicles in a row. I doubt if an ordinary matchbox could have been passed between our near-side running-board and that of the cabriolet. I could certainly have touched the lorry, had I put out my hand….

Then we swept on and up and over the crest.

Thereafter all was plain sailing.

As we ran into Peyrehorade, I glanced at my watch.

I had lost my bet by about a quarter of a minute. But for the led horses, we should have run to time….

Upon one matter we were all agreed, and that was that the driver of the grey cabriolet was going much too fast.

So soon as we had passed through the town, Berry and I changed places. Almost immediately the road deteriorated. Its fine straightforward rolling nature was maintained: the surface, however, was in tatters….

After ten kilometres of misery, my brother-in-law slowed up and stopped. Then he turned to me.

"Have you ever driven upon this road (sic) before?"

I shook my head.

"Well, you can start now," was the reply. "I'm fed up, I am. I'd rather drive on the beach." With that he opened his door. "Oh, and give me back that cigar."

"Courage," I said, detaining him. "It can't last."

"Pardon me," said Berry, "but it can last for blistering leagues. I know these roads. Besides, my right knee's getting tremulous."

"It's quite good practice," I ventured.

"What for?" was the bitter reply. "My future estate? Possibly. I have no doubt that there it will be my blithesome duty continually to back a charabanc with a fierce clutch up an interminable equivalent of the Eiffel Tower. At present——"

"And you were driving so beautifully," said his wife.

"What—not with finesse?" said her husband.

"Rather," said I. "Ginger, too."

"What d'you mean—'ginger'?"—suspiciously.

"Determination," said I hurriedly.

"Not the b-b-bull-dog b-b-breed?"

"The same," said I. "All underhung. 'Shove-me-and-I'll-shove-your-face' sort of air. It was most noticeable."

Berry slammed the door and felt for the self-starter….

As we bucketed down the next slope—

"I only wish," he said, "that we could encounter the deceitful monger responsible for including this road among les grands itinéraires. I can stand pot-holes, but the remains of a railway platform which might have been brought from one of what we know as 'the stricken areas,' laid, like linoleum, upon a foot of brickdust, tend to make you gird at Life. Incidentally, is this fast enough for you? Or are your livers still sluggish?"

"I think," said I, nodding at a huge pantechnicon, "that we might pass the furniture."

I know no horn whose note is at once so compelling and offensive as that of the usher with which Pong was equipped. I know no din at once so obliterative and brain-shaking as that induced by the passage of a French pantechnicon, towed at a high speed over an abominable road. That the driver of the tractor failed to hear our demand was not remarkable. That he should have elected to sway uncertainly along the very crown of the road was most exasperating….

Three times did Berry essay to push by; three times at the critical moment did the tractor lurch drunkenly across our bows; and three times did Pong fall back discomfited. The dust, the reek, the vibration, the pandemonium, were combining to create an atmosphere worthy of a place in the Litany. One's senses were cuffed and buffeted almost to a standstill. I remember vaguely that Daphne was clinging to my arm, wailing that "it was no good." I know I was shouting. Berry was howling abusive incoherence in execrable French….

We were approaching the top of a hill..

Suddenly the tractor swung away to its right. With a yell of triumph, my unwitting brother-in-law thrust at the gap…. Pong leapt forward.

Mercifully there was a lane on the left, and I seized the wheel and wrenched it round, at the same time opening the throttle as wide as I dared. I fancy we took the corner on two wheels. As we did so, a pale blue racer streaked by our tail-lamp with the roar of an avalanche.

When Daphne announced that, if she reached Biarritz alive, she should drive home with Jonah, I was hardly surprised.

It was perhaps an hour later that, after passing grey-headed Bayonne, we came to her smart little sister and the villa we sought.

The great lodge-gates were open, but Ping was without in the road, while Jonah was leaning languidly against the wall. As we slowed up, he took his pipe from his mouth.

"I shouldn't drive in," he said. "They're out. Won't be back before six, the servants say."

* * * * *

Black as was the evidence against him, my brother-in-law stoutly refused to be held responsible for the affair. All the way to the Hotel du Palais he declared violently that the engagement had been well and truly made, and that if Evelyn and her husband chose to forget all about it, that was no fault of his. Finally, when Jonah suggested that after luncheon we should return to the villa and inquire whether we had indeed been expected the day before, he assented with disconcerting alacrity. As we passed into the restaurant—

"And I'll do the interrogating," he concluded. "I don't want any of your leading questions. 'I quite expect we were expected yesterday, weren't we?' All sweet and slimy, with a five-franc note in the middle distance."

"How dare you?" said Daphne. "Besides, I'd be only too relieved to find it was their mistake."

"Blow your relief," replied her husband. "What about my bleeding heart?"

"I'm not much of a physician," said I, "but there's some cold stuffed venison on the sideboard. I don't know whether that, judiciously administered…."

Berry shook his head.

"I doubt it," he said mournfully. "I doubt it very much….
Still"—he looked round hungrily—"we can always try."

We were at the villa again within the hour.

Almost immediately we elicited the information that Major and Mrs.
Swetecote had spent the previous day at San Sebastian.

Turning a withering and glassy eye in our direction, my brother-in-law explained the position and desired permission to enter and write a note. This was granted forthwith.

My sister and I followed him into a pleasant salon meekly enough. When he had written his letter, he read it to us with the air of a cardinal.

DEAR EVELYN,

"LEST WE FORGET."

Yes, I know. But you should be more careful. Old friends like us, too. Disgraceful, I call it. To have been unprepared to receive us would have been bad enough, but to be actually absent from home…. Well, as Wordsworth says, that's bent it.

When I tell you that, in the belief that she was to enjoy a free lunch, my beloved yoke-fellow, who is just now very hot upon economy, forewent her breakfast and arrived upon your threshold faint and ravening, you will conceive the emotion with which she hailed the realization that that same hunger which she had encouraged could only be appeased at an expensive hotel.

But that is nothing.

To bless your married life, I have hustled a valuable internal combustion engine over one of the vilest roads in Europe, twice risked a life, the loss of which would, as you know, lower half the flags in Bethnal Green, and postponed many urgent and far more deserving calls upon my electric personality. I was, for instance, to have had my hair cut.

Worse.

Upon hearing of your absence, the unnatural infidel above referred to charged this to my account. As is my humble wont, I bent my head to the storm, strong in the fearless confidence that France is France, and that, late as we were, the ever-open bar would not be closed.

"Tell me more of yourself," I hear you say.

That may not be, che-ild.

For one thing, that venison has made me sleepy. Secondly, I am just off to find a suitable and sheltered grove, within sound of the Atlantic, where I may spend an hour in meditation. Thirdly, I live for others.

Jonah wants to know if your husband can play golf. He does, of course. But can he?

Your dear old friend,
BERRY.

P.S.—D'you happen to know who owns a large grey cabriolet with a "G.B." plate? I imagine it lives at Biarritz. Anyway, they ought to be prosecuted. Driving about the country like a drunken hornet. Mercifully we were crawling. Otherwise … I tell you, it made my b-b-blood b-b-boil. Not at the time, of course.

* * * * *

The pine woods were wholly delightful.

The lisp of the wind among the branches, the faint thunder of the Atlantic, the soft sweet atmosphere showed us a side of Biarritz which we should have been sorry to miss. By rights, if music and perfume have any power, we should have fallen asleep. The air, however, prevented us. Here was an inspiriting lullaby—a sleeping-draught laced with cordial. We plucked the fruit from off the Tree of Drowsiness, ate it, and felt refreshed. Repose went by the board. We left the cars upon the road and went strolling….

"D'you think you could get me that spray?" said Jill suddenly.

In my cousin's eyes flora have only to be inaccessible to become desirable. Remembering this, I did as Berry and Jonah were doing—stared straight ahead and hoped very hard that she was not speaking to me.

"Boy!"

"Yes, dear?"

"D'you think you could…?"

By the time I had torn my trousers, strained my right shoulder, sworn three times, and ruined the appearance of my favourite brogues, the others were out of sight.

"Thanks awfully, Boy. You are good to me. And that'll look lovely in the drawing-room. The worst of it is, this stuff wilts almost at once."

"Seems almost a shame to have picked it," I said grimly, "doesn't it?"

"It does really," Jill agreed. "Never mind," she added cheerfully, slipping an arm through mine. "It was my fault."

Subduing a desire to lie down on my back and scream, I relighted my pipe, and we strolled forward.

A country walk with Jill is never dull.

To do the thing comfortably, you should be followed by a file of pioneers in marching order, a limbered waggon, and a portable pond. Before we had covered another two hundred yards, I had collected three more sprays, two ferns, and a square foot of moss—the latter, much to the irritation of its inhabitants, many of whom refused to evacuate their homes and therefore accompanied us. I drew the line at frogs, on the score of cruelty to animals, but when we met one about the size of a postage stamp, it was a very near thing. Finally, against my advice, my cousin stormed a bank, caught her foot in an invisible wire, and fell flat upon her face.

"There now!" I cried testily, dropping our spoils and scrambling to her assistance.

"I'm not a bit hurt," she cried, getting upon her feet. "Not a scrap. And—and don't be angry with me, Boy. Jonah's been cross all day. He says my skirt is too short. And it isn't, is it?"

"Not when you don't fall down," said I. "At least—well, it is rather, isn't it?"

Jill put her feet together and drew the cloth close about her silk stockings. It fell, perhaps, one inch below her knees. For a moment she regarded the result. Then she looked up at me and put her head on one side….

I have grown up with Jill. I have seen her in habits, in ball-dresses, in dressing-gowns. I have seen her hair up, and I have seen it tumbled about her shoulders. I have seen her grave, and I have seen her gay. I have seen her on horseback, and I have seen her asleep. But never in all my life shall I forget the picture which at this moment she made.

One thick golden tress, shaken loose by her fall, lay curling down past the bloom of her cheek on to her shoulder. The lights in it blazed. From beneath the brim of her small tight-fitting hat her great grave eyes held mine expectantly. The stars in them seemed upon the edge of dancing. Her heightened colour, the poise of her shapely head, the parted lips lent to that exquisite face the air of an elf. All the sweet grace of a child was welling out of her maidenhood. Her apple-green frock fitted the form of a shepherdess. Her pretty grey legs and tiny feet were those of a fairy. Its very artlessness trebled the attraction of her pose. Making his sudden way between the boughs, the sun flung a warm bar of light athwart her white throat and the fallen curl. Nature was honouring her darling. It was the accolade.

I could have sworn that behind me somebody breathed "Madonna!" but although I swung round and peered into the bushes, I could see no one.

"When you've quite done," said Jill. Clearly she had noticed nothing.

I returned to my cousin.

"Yes," I said, "it's too short. Just a shade. As for you, you're much too sweet altogether. Something'll have to be done about it. You'll be stolen by fairies, or translated, or inveigled into an engagement, or something."

Jill let her dress go and flung her arms round my neck.

"You and Berry and Jonah," she said, "are far too sweet to me. And—— Oh, I can see myself in your eye, Boy. I can really." For a moment she stared at the reflection. "I don't think I look very nice," she added gravely. "However…" She kissed me abstractedly and started to fix the tress errant. "If Jonah asks you, don't say it's too short. It's not good for him. I'll have it lengthened all right."

For the second time I began to relight my pipe…

After examining the scene of her downfall, the witch caught at a slip of a bough and swung herself athletically to the top of the bank. Thence she turned a glowing face in my direction.

"No, I shan't, after all," she announced. "It's much too convenient."

Twenty minutes later we reached the point from which we had set out.

Adèle was awaiting us with Ping.

As soon as we saw her—

"Good Heavens!" cried Jill. "I quite forgot you were married. You ought to have been with Adèle." She ran to the car. "Adèle darling, what do you think of me?"

"I am blind," said Adèle, "with jealousy. Anyone would be. And now jump in. Berry has taken the others to look at La Barre, and we're to follow them."

Such of the landscape as I was bearing was thereupon bestowed in the boot, I followed my cousin into the car, and a few minutes later we were at the mouth of the Adour. Here we left Ping beside Pong, and proceeded to join three figures on the horizon, apparently absorbed in the temper of a fretful sea.

As we tramped heavily over the shingle—

"You're not cross with me, Adèle?"

"Why should I be, darling?"

"Well, you see," panted Jill, "I've known him so long, and he's still so exactly the same, that I can't always remember——"

"That he's not your property?" said my wife. "But he is, and always will be."

Jill looked at her gravely.

"But he's yours," she said.

Adèle laughed lightly.

"Subjects marry, of course," she said, smiling, "but they've only one queen."

Which, I think, was uncommon handsome.

Any way, I kissed her slight fingers….

As we reached our companions—

"I could stay here for ever," said Berry. "Easily. But I'm not going to. The wind annoys me, and the sea's not what it was before the War."

"How can you?" said Daphne. She stretched out a pointing arm. "Just look at that one—that great big fellow. It must be the ninth wave."

"Nothing to the York Ham—I mean the Welsh Harp—on a dirty night," replied her husband. "Why, I remember once …"

In the confusion of a precipitate retreat before the menace of the roller, the reminiscence was lost.

It was certainly a magnificent spectacle.

There was a heavy sea running, and the everlasting battle between the river and the Atlantic was being fought with long swift spasms of unearthly fury. Continually recurring, shock, mellay and rally overlapped, attack and repulse were inextricably mingled, the very lulls between the paroxysms were big with wrath. There was a point, too, where the river's bank became coastline, a blunt corner of land, which seemed to exasperate the sea out of all reason. A stiff breeze abetting them, the gigantic waves crashed upon it with a concussion that shook the air. All the royal rage of Ocean seemed to be concentrated on this little prominence. The latter's indifference appeared to aggravate its assailant. Majesty was in a tantrum.

With the exception of Berry, we could have watched the display till, as they say, the cows come home. My brother-in-law, however, felt differently. The wind was offending him.

After a violent denunciation of this element—

"Besides," he added, "we ought to be getting back. It's nearly half-past three, and if we're to avoid the playground of the Tanks and return by Bidache, we shall be longer upon the road."

"Well, you go on," said Daphne. "Ask Adèle nicely, first, if she'll take my place, and then if she minds starting now."

"Fair lady," he said,

"The vay ith long, the vind ith cold,
It maketh me feel infernal old."

"I'm sorry," said Adèle hurriedly, "but I've left my purse at home.
Try my husband."

Berry put on his hat, cocked it, and turned to me.

"D'you want a thick ear?" he demanded. "Or will you go quietly?"

"A little more," I retorted, "and you ride in the dickey."

Ten minutes later Pong was sailing into the outskirts of Bayonne.

To emerge from the town upon the Briscous road proved unexpectedly hard. The map insisted that we should essay a dark entry, by the side of which a forbidding notice-board dared us to come on…. Adèle and I pored over the print, while out of our bickering Berry plucked such instructions as his fancy suggested, and, alternately advancing and retiring, cruised to and fro about a gaunt church. After a while we began to ask people, listen carefully to their advice, thank them effusively, and then demonstrate to one another that they were certainly ignorant and probably hostile.

At length—

"How many times," inquired Berry, "did they walk round Jericho before the walls went?"

"Thirteen, I think," said Adèle. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," was the reply. "Only, if you aren't quick, we shall have this church down. Besides, I'm getting giddy."

"Then show some initiative," I retorted.

"Right," said Berry, darting up a side-street.

Calling upon him to stop, Adèle and I fought for the map…. A sudden lurch to the left flung us into the corner, whence, before we had recovered our equilibrium, a violent swerve to the right returned us pell-mell. At last, in response to our menaces, Berry slowed up before a sign-post.

Its legend was plain.

BRISCOUS 10

We stared at it in silence. Then we stared at one another. Finally we stared at Berry. The latter spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

"Instinct," he said. "Just instinct. It's very wonderful. Hereditary, of course. One of my uncles was a water-waste preventer. With the aid of a cricket-bat and a false nose, he could find a swamp upon an empty stomach. They tried him once, for fun, at a garden-party. Nobody could understand the host's uneasiness until, amid a scene of great excitement, my uncle found the cesspool under the refreshment marquee."

Eventually we persuaded him to proceed.

For a while the going was poor, but after we had passed Briscous all cause for complaint vanished. Not only was the surface of the road as good as new, but the way itself, was winsome. The main road to Peyrehorade could not compare with it. At every twist and turn—and there were many—some fresh attraction confronted us. The countryside, shy of the great highways, crept very close. We slipped up lanes, ran side by side with brooks, brushed by snug cottages. Dingles made bold to share with us their shelter, hill-tops their sweet prospects, hamlets their quiet content.

An amazing sundown set our cup brimming.

That this might run over, Bidache itself gave us a chateau—ruined, desolate, and superb. There is a stateliness of which Death holds the patent: and then, again, Time can be kind to the dead. What Death had given, Time had magnified. Years had added to the grey walls a peace, a dignity, a charm, such as they never knew while they were kept. The grave beauty of the place was haunting. We passed on reluctantly….

A quarter of an hour later we ran into Peyrehorade.

Here Adèle relieved my brother-in-law and, encouraged by the promise of a late tea, made the most of the daylight.

Eighty minutes later we slid into Pau.

As we swept up the drive of our villa—

"Well," said Berry, "I must confess it's been a successful day. If we'd lunched with Evelyn, we should have missed that venison, and if the main road hadn't been vile, we should have missed Bidache. Indeed, provided no anti-climax is furnished by the temperature of the bath-water, I think we may congratulate ourselves."

Adèle and I agreed enthusiastically.

Falcon met us in the hall with a note and a telephone message.

The first was from Mrs. Swetecote.

DEAREST DAPHNE,

How awful of you! Never mind. I know how terribly easy it is to forget. And now you must come over to us instead. Falcon insisted that you would wish us to have lunch, so we did—a jolly good one, too. And Jack smoked one of Berry's cigars, and, of course, we both lost our hearts to Nobby. In fact, we made ourselves thoroughly at home.

Your loving EVELYN.

P.S.—Try and find out who's staying at Pau with a blue all-weather coupé. They went by us to-day like a flash of lightning. Fortunately we were going dead slow, so it was all right. But they ought to be stopped.

The second was from Jonah.

As rendered by Falcon, it ran:—

"Captain Mansel's compliments, sir, and, as Mrs. Adèle Pleydell was the last to drive Ping, 'e thinks she must 'ave 'is key…. And as Love's the honly thing as laughs at locksmiths, sir, will you kindly return this forthwith…. I asked Captain Mansel where 'e'd like you to meet 'im, sir, but 'e said you'd know."

From Pau to La Barre is seventy miles—as near as 'damn it.'

* * * * *

I covered the distance alone. All the way a memory kept whispering above the rush of the tires…. 'Madonna!'…. 'Madonna!'…