Jonah and Co.

by Dornford Yates

CHAPTER VII

HOW DAPHNE LOST HER BEDFELLOW, AND THE LINE OF LEAST RESISTANCE PROVED IRRESISTIBLE.

Order, so to speak, having been restored, and the path of love made straight beyond all manner of doubt, we decided festively to make an excursion to Spain. The fact that Piers could speak Spanish suggested that all the arrangements should be left in his hands. We embraced the suggestion cordially. Then, at the eleventh hour, a courteously imperative wire from his solicitors had deprived us of our courier….

The Duke of Padua had left Pau that evening, and all six of us had gone to the station to speed him to Paris and Rome. My cousin's farewell to her future husband had been ridiculously affecting. Polonius' advice to his son was above rubies, but Jill's charge came pelting out of an eager heart.

"Oh, and Piers darling, you will take care, won't you? And do wear warm things. I'm sure it's still most awfully cold up there, and—and I don't know what men wear extra, but couldn't you put on a bodybelt?"

"Binder, dear, binder," corrected Berry.

"Well, binder, then. I remember Jonah saying——"

"Never," said her brother.

"Yes, you did. You said the great thing was to keep warm round the—er—round the hips."

Berry looked round.

"All women and children," he said, "will leave the Court."

"Piers, you will, won't you? For my sake. Oh, and don't forget you've got to get some sock-suspenders, because your left one comes down. And be very careful crossing the streets. Wait till there's a gap—always. And don't drink the water, will you? Don't even use it for your teeth. Daphne won't."

"That's right," said Berry. "Do as she does. Combine business with pleasure and clean them in a small Worthington."

"Oh, and lock your door at night. Just in case. And, Piers darling, I love you very much, and—and God bless you, dear, and I shall just wait and wait for you to come back again."

Hat in hand, Piers put her fingers to his lips.

"Good-bye, Madonna."

They kissed one another passionately.

The next moment the train was moving, and the Duke swung himself on to the step of the wagon lit.

Jill began to trot by his side….

When she could run no faster, my cousin gave up the attempt and stood waving her tiny handkerchief and then staring after the train.

As we came up, she turned to us bravely.

"I hope," she said shakily, "I hope he'll get on all right. He's such a child," she added, knitting her pretty brow. "I wish to goodness we were married. Then I could have gone with him." She stumbled, and I caught her. She looked up at me with her grey eyes swimming. "I've often seen you off, Boy, but I wasn't silly like this."

"It's a question of interest, darling. Piers is your very own pigeon."

Jill wiped her eyes thoughtfully.

"I suppose that's it," she said slowly. "My very own…. Boy, will you take me to a tailor's? I want to get a binder."

Ere we sat down to dinner that night, two stout body-belts had been dispatched to Paris by registered post.

* * * * *

"Satisfactorily," said Berry, restoring his napkin to his knees, "to consume oxtail, one should be stripped to the waist."

"That'll do," said Daphne.

"As a rule," said her husband, "it will. Of course, for a really careless feeder, still further divestment may be desirable. Afterwards he can be hosed. And now about Spain. Of course, without Piers to talk for us, we shall be mocked, misled, and generally stung to glory. But there you are. If you're landed with half a kingdom, I guess it's up to you to take possession."

"As at present arranged," said Jonah, "we start the day after to-morrow, spend one night at Pampeluna, two at San Sebastian, and get back on Saturday."

"One clear day," murmured Daphne. "I suppose that'll give us time."

"What's there to do," said Adèle, "besides packing?"

"Not much," said Jonah. "The passports have been visa-ed, and that's the main thing. We must get some money at the bank—Spanish money, I mean—book rooms, run over the cars… I can't think of anything else."

"We'd better take some insecticide," said Berry. "Spain's very conservative."

"Nonsense," said Daphne.

"All right," said her husband. "Only, on the command 'Ter-rot,' don't wake me to inspect the bodyguard. Have we any castanets? And what about some sombreros? I mean, I want to do the thing properly."

"Thanks," said his wife. "But if you're going in fancy dress, I'd rather remain at Pau. I haven't forgotten our second Sunday here."

"I shall always maintain," was the reply, "that I was suitably dressed.
On the previous Sunday I had carefully studied the fashions upon the
Boulevard, and I flatter myself that, had I been permitted to appear in
public, my attire would have found immediate favour."

"If," said I, "I remember aright, it consisted of a white bowler, a morning-coat, golf-breeches, blue silk stockings and cloth-topped boots."

"That's right," said Berry. "And an alpenstock. I ought really to have had my cuffs trimmed with skunk," he added wistfully, "but I thought of it too late."

"I tell you what," said Adèle. "We must take some films."

"That's right," said Jill. "I promised Piers we'd send him some snapshots."

Jonah groaned.

"Surely," he said, "our passport photographs are bad enough."

"The camera," said Berry, "can never lie. Besides, I'm very fond of your passport portrait. I admit I hadn't previously noticed that your right ear was so much the larger of the two, but the cast in your left eye is very beautifully insisted upon. Mine, I must confess, is less successful. Had I been told that it was a study of the Honorary Treasurer of the Splodgeworth Goose Club on bail, I should have held it an excellent likeness. Daphne's is very good. She's wearing that particularly sweet expression of hers. You can almost hear her saying, 'Mine's a large port.' Apart, they're bad enough, but with both of them on the same document—well, why we weren't turned back at Boulogne I shall never know. Boy's, again, is lifelike."

"Shame," said Adèle. "He looks all bloated."

"I know he does, sweetheart. But that's his own fault. What's put in the mouth comes out in the flesh. The camera can never lie. And now don't choke. It's unmaidenly. And I cannot think of you as a matron. Let's see. Oh, yes. Films. Anything else?"

"Soap," said Daphne.

"Fountain-pen," said Jill.

"Cards," said Adèle.

"Tea," said Daphne.

"Beer-opener," said I.

"Plate and linen," said Berry. "That's nine. Let's go by train."

"Anybody," said Jonah, "would think that we were going into the bush. If you must have a camera—well, take one. But as for soap and tea and beer-openers and fountain-pens—oh, you make me tired."

"And me," said Berry unctuously. "A plain man of few words, all this vulgar mouth-wash about creature comforts——"

It was hardly to be expected that he would get any further….

It was when the storm of indignation was at its height that the electric light failed.

Four of us breathed the same expletive simultaneously.

Then—

"Lost," said Berry's voice. "Two cheese-straws and a blob of French mustard. Finder will be——" The crash of glass interrupted him. "Don't move, Falcon, or you'll wreck the room. Besides, it'll soon be dawn. The nights are getting shorter every day."

"Very good, sir," replied the butler.

"They'll bring some candles in a minute," said Daphne.

"What we really want," said my brother-in-law, "is a prismatic compass."

"What for?" said Jill.

"To take a bearing with. Then we should know where the port was, and I could peel you a banana. Or would you rather suck it?"

"Brute!" said Jill, shuddering. "Oh, why is the dark so horrid?"

"The situation," said I, "calls for philosophy."

"True," said Berry. "Now, similarly placed, what would Epicurus have done?"

"I think," said Adèle, "he'd have continued his discourse, as if nothing had happened."

"Good girl," said Jonah. "Any more queries about Pampeluna?"

"Yes," said my sister. "How exactly do we go?"

"We go," said I, "to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port. There we get a permit to take the cars into Spain. Then we go over the mountains by Roncevaux. It's a wonderful drive, they say, but the very deuce of a climb. Pampeluna's about fifty kilometres from the top of the pass. If we get off well, we ought to be there in time for tea."

"Easily," said Jonah. "It's only a hundred and twenty miles."

I shrugged my shoulders and resumed a surreptitious search for the chocolates.

"I expect we shall strike some snow," I said.

"Snow?" cried Jill.

"Rather," said Berry. "And avalanches. The cars will be roped together. Then, if one falls, it'll take the other with it. Will somebody pass me the grape-tongs? I've found a walnut."

"Why on earth," said Daphne, "don't they bring some candles? Falcon!"

"Yes, madam?"

"Try to find the door, and go and see what they're doing."

"Very good, madam."

With infinite care the butler emerged from the room. As the door closed—

"And now," said Adèle, "I can't bear it any longer. Where are the chocolates?"

"My dear," said my sister, "I've been feeling for the wretched things ever since the light went out. Hasn't anybody got a match?"

Nobody had a match.

At length——

"They can't have been put on the table," said Jill. "I've——"

"Here they are," said Berry.

"Where?"

"Here. Give me your pretty white hand."

"This isn't them," said Jill. "They're in—— Oh, you brute! You've done it on purpose."

"I'm awfully sorry," said Berry. "I quite thought——"

"You liar!" said Jill heatedly. "You did it on purpose. You know you did. Daphne, he's gone and put my hand in the ginger."

"It'll wear off, dear," said Berry. "It'll wear off. By the time
Piers is back, you'll hardly know…."

The apologetic entry of Falcon with two inches of candle upon a plate cut short the prophecy.

As he solemnly set the brand in the centre of the table, the light returned with a flash….

It was when the butler had placed the wine before Berry and was about to withdraw, that Daphne asked for the chocolates.

Falcon peered at the table.

"They were there, madam," he said.

Berry looked round uneasily.

"I think, perhaps," he began stooping to feel under his chair, "I think—I mean, fearing lest in the confusion…."

He broke off, to stare at a small silver bowl which was as bare as his hand.

Daphne took a deep breath.

"And that was full," she said witheringly. "And you sat there and let us feel all over the table, and pretended you were looking, and put Jill's hand in the ginger, and all the time——"

"I never ate one," said Berry. "I never…." He stopped short and looked round the room. "Nobby!"

The Sealyham emerged from beneath the table, wide-eyed, expectant.

Sternly my brother-in-law held out the bowl.

Never was guilt more plainly betrayed.

The pricked ears fell flat: the bright brown eyes sank to the floor: the pert white tail was lowered incontinently. Nobby had hauled down his flag.

"Oh, Nobby!"

The terrier squirmed, laid his head upon the ground, and then rolled over upon his back….

"You can't blame the dog," said I. "Besides, he'll pay for it.
Quarter of a pound of chocolates'll fairly——"

"I've just remembered," said Daphne, "that they weren't chocolates at all. They were marrons glacés—the last of the bunch. They won't make any more this year."

Berry wiped his forehead,

"Are you saying this," he demanded, "to torment me? Or is it true?"

"It's a C.B. fact."

"But what about tea?" screamed her husband. "Tea without a marron glacé will be like—like Hell without the Prince of Darkness."

"I can't help it. France has a close season for them."

Berry hid his face in his hands.

"Under my chair!" he wailed. "The last of the bunch (sic). And I never ate one!"

"Come, come," said I. "Similarly placed, what would Epicurus have done?"

"I know," said Adèle.

"What?" said Berry.

My wife smiled.

"He'd 've made tracks for Spain," she said.

* * * * *

The French sergeant saluted, Daphne nodded, Berry said, "Down with everything," I touched my hat, and we rolled slowly over the little bridge out of one country into another.

Our reception was very serious.

So far as our papers were concerned, the Spanish N.C.O. knew his job and did it with a soldierly, if somewhat trying, precision. Pong was diligently compared with the tale of his triptyque. Our faces were respectively compared with the unflattering vignettes pasted upon our passports. The visas were deliberately inspected. Our certificates were unfolded and scrutinised. Our travelling pass was digested. To our great relief, however, he let the luggage go. We had no contraband, but we were two hours late, and to displace and replace securely a trunk and a dressing-case upon the back of a coupé takes several minutes and necessitates considerable exertion of a very unpleasant kind. Finally, having purchased a local permit for five pesetas, we were suffered to proceed.

We were now at the mouth of a gorge and the pass was before us. Had the gorge been a rift in the range, a road had been cut by the side of the torrent, and our way, if tortuous, had been as flat as your hand. But the gorge was a cul de sac—a beautiful blind alley, with mountains' flanks for walls. So the road had been made to scale one side of the alley—to make its winding way as best it could, turning and twisting and doubling upon itself, up to a windy saddle which we could hardly see.

I gave the car its head, and we went at a wicked hill as a bull at a gate.

Almost immediately the scenery became superb.

With every yard the walls of the gorge were drawing further apart, slowly revealing themselves in all their glory. Forests and waterfalls, precipices and greenswards, grey lichened crags and sun-bathed terraces, up, above all, an exquisite vesture of snow, flawless and dazzling—these stood for beauty. All the wonder of height, the towering proportions of the place, the bewildering pitch of the sky—these stood for grandeur. An infinite serenity, an imperturbable peace, a silence which the faint gush of springs served to enrich—these stood for majesty. Nature has throne-rooms about the world, and this was one of them.

I started the engine again—for we had instinctively stopped—and Pong thrust on.

Up, up, up we toiled, through the hanging village of Valcarlos, past a long string of jingling mules, under stupendous porches of the living rock, round hair-pin bends, by woods and coppices, over grey bridges—wet and shining and all stuck with ferns—now looking forward to the snow-bound ridge, now facing back to find the frontier village shrunk to a white huddle of dots, the torrent to a winking thread of silver, and our late road to a slender straggling ribbon, absurdly foreign, ridiculously remote.

On we stormed, higher and higher, past boulders and poor trees wrung with the wind, and presently up and into and over the snow, while slowly, foot by foot, depth dragged height down to nothing.

For the third time it occurred to me that the engine was unwarrantably hot, and, after a moment's consideration, I took out the clutch and brought the car to a standstill.

"What is it?" said Daphne.

"She's hot," said I. "Hotter than she should be. At least, I think so. Of course it's a deuce of a pull." And, with that, I opened the door.

"You're not going to get out in this snow?"

"Only a second, dear."

Upon observing that the fan-belt was broken, it was natural that I should regret very much that I had not looked for the trouble when first I suspected its presence. Had I done so, I should have spared the engine, I should have been able to correct the disorder without burning myself to hell, and I should not have been standing, while I worked, in four inches of snow.

Gloomily I made my report.

"I'm sorry," I concluded, "but I shall have to have Berry. I've got a new strap in the boot, but I can't shift the luggage alone."

Berry closed his eyes and sank his chin upon his breast.

"Go on, old chap," said Daphne. "I'm very sorry for you, but——"

"I—I don't feel well," said Berry. "Besides, I haven't got my gum-boots."

"Will you get out?" said his wife.

At last, between us, we got him as far as the running board.

"Come on," I said impatiently.

"Don't rush me," said Berry, staring at the snow as if it were molten lead. "Don't rush me. How fresh and beautiful it looks, does not it?" He took a deep breath and let himself down upon his toes. "A-A-ah! If you can do sixty kilometres with a pound of snow in each shoe, how many miles is that to the gallon?"

The belt was at the very back of beyond, but I found it at last. As we replaced the luggage—

"And while," I said, "I'm fixing the strap, you might fill up the radiator."

"What with?" said Berry.

"Snow, of course. Just pick it up and shove it in."

"'Just pick it up and sho——' Oh, give me strength," said Berry brokenly. Then he raised his voice. "Daphne!"

"What's the matter?"

"I've got to pick up some snow now."

"Well, rub your hands with it, dear—well. Then they won't get frost-bitten."

"You—er—you don't mind my picking it up, then? I mean, my left foot is already gangrenous."

"Well, rub that, too," called Daphne.

"Thanks," said Berry grimly. "I think I'd rather wait for the dogs. I expect there are some at Roncevaux. In the pictures they used to have a barrel of whisky round their necks. The great thing was to be found by about five dogs. Then you got five barrels. By the time the monks arrived, you were quite sorry to see them."

"Will you go and fill up the radiator?" said I, unlocking the tool-box….

The fitting of the new belt was a blasphemous business. My fingers were cold and clumsy, and everything I touched was red-hot. However, at last it was done.

As I was looking over the engine—

"We'd better pull up a bit," said Berry. "I've used all the snow round here. Just a few feet, you know. That drift over there'll last me a long time."

"What d'you mean?" said I. "Isn't it full yet?"

"Well, I thought it was just now, but it seems to go down. I've put in about a hundredweight to date."

An investigation of the phenomenon revealed the unpleasant truth that the radiator was leaking.

I explained this to Berry.

"I see," he said gravely. "I understand. In other words, for the last twenty minutes I have been at some pains to be introducing water into an inconveniently shaped sieve?"

"That," said I, "is the idea."

"And, for all the good I've been doing, I might have been trying to eat a lamb cutlet through a couple of straws?"

"Oh, no. You've cooled her down. In fact…"

It took five minutes and all the cajolery at my command to induce my brother-in-law to continue his Danaidean task, until I had started the engine and we were ready to move.

Then he whipped its cap on to the radiator and clambered into the car.

I was extremely uneasy, and said as much.

It was now a quarter to five. Pampeluna was some thirty miles away, and Heaven only knew what sort of country lay before us. We were nearly at the top of the pass, and, presumably, once we were over we should strike a lot of "down hill." But if the leak became worse, and there was much more collarwork….

Desperately I put Pong along.

The snow was deeper now and was affecting the steering. The wheels, too, were slipping constantly. I had to go very gingerly. Two deep furrows ahead told of Ping's passage. I began to wonder how Adèle, Jill, and Jonah were getting on….

It was when the snow was perhaps a foot deep that we snarled past a ruined cabin and, stumbling over the very top of the world, began to descend.

Ten minutes later we came to Roncevaux. Where Abbey began or village ended, it was impossible to say, and there was no one to be seen. The place looked like a toy some baby giant had carried into the mountains, played with awhile, and then forgotten.

Here was the last of the snow, so I crammed some more into the radiator, tried very hard to think I could see the water, and hoped for the best. While I was doing this, Berry had closed the car—a wise measure, for, though we should lose a lot of scenery, the sun was sinking and Evening was laying her fingers upon the fine fresh air.

Navarre seemed very handsome. It was, indeed, all mountains—bleaker, less intimate than France, but very, very grand. And the road was splendidly laid: its long clean sweeps, its graceful curves, the way in which its line befitted the bold landscape, yet was presenting a style of its own, argued a certain poetry in the hearts of its engineers.

We swept through a village that might have been plucked out of Macedonia, so rude and stricken it looked. There was no glass in the windows: filth littered the naked street: pigs and poultry rushed for the crazy doorways at our approach.

Pampeluna being the nearest town, I realised with a shock what sort of a night we should spend if we failed to get there.

I began to hope very hard that there were no more hills. Presently the road forked and we switched to the right. Maps and Guide declared that this was the better way.

"What's carretera accidentada mean?" said my sister, looking up from the Michelin Guide.

"I think carretera means 'road,'" said I. "As for accidentada—well, it's got an ugly sound."

"Well, do look out," said Daphne. "We shall be there any minute. This must be Espinal, and that's where it begins."

Berry cleared his throat.

"The art of life," he announced, "is to be prepared. Should the car overturn and it become necessary to ply me with cordial, just part my lips and continue to pour until I say 'When.' Should—— What are you stopping for?"

"Very slightly to our rear," said I, "upon the right-hand side of the road stands a water-trough. You may have noticed it."

"I did," said Berry. "A particularly beautiful specimen of the palaeolithic epoch. Shall we go on now?"

"Supposing," said I relentlessly, "you plied the radiator. Just take the cap off and continue to pour till I say 'When.'"

"I should be charmed," was the reply. "Unfortunately I have no vessel wherewith to——"

"Here you are," said Daphne, thrusting a hotwater bottle into his hand.
"What a mercy I forgot to pack it!"

As I lighted a cigarette—

"It is indeed," said I, "a godsend."

With an awful look, Berry received the godsend and emerged from the car.

After perhaps two minutes he reappeared.

"No good," he said shortly. "The water's too hard or something. The brute won't look at it."

"Nonsense," said Daphne.

"All right," said her husband. "You go and tempt it. I'm through, I am."

"Squeeze the air out of it and hold it under the spout."

"But I tell you——"

I took out my watch.

"In another half-hour," I said, "it'll be dark, and we've still forty kilometres——"

Heavily Berry disappeared.

When I next saw him he was filling the radiator from his hat….

After six journeys he screwed on the cap and made a rush for the car.

"But where's my bottle?" screamed Daphne.

"I rejoice to say," replied Berry, slamming the door, "that full fathom five the beggar lies."

"You've never dropped——"

"If it's any consolation," said Berry, as I let in the clutch, "he perished in fair fight. The swine put about a bucket up each of my sleeves first, and then spat all over my head. Yes, it is funny, isn't it? Never mind. Game to the last, he went down regurgitating like a couple of bath-rooms. And now I really am flea-bitten. I can't feel anything except my trunk."

It was as well that we had taken in water, for very soon, to my dismay, we began to climb steadily…

Once again we watered—Heaven knows how high up—at a hovel, half barn, half cottage, where a sturdy mother came lugging a great caldron before we had named our need. In all conscience, this was obvious enough. The smell of fiery metal was frightening me to death.

Mercifully, that terrible ascent was the last.

As the day was dying, we dropped down a long, long hill, round two or three death-trap bends, and so, by gentle stages, on to a windy plain….

It was half-past six when we ran into Pampeluna.

After paying an entrance fee, we proceeded to the Grand Hotel. It was intensely cold, and a wind cut like a knife. The streets were crowded, and we moved slowly, with the result that the eight urchins who decided to mount the running-boards did so without difficulty. The four upon my side watched Berry evict their fellows with all the gratification of the immune.

"Little brutes," said Daphne. "Round to the left, Boy. That's right. Straight on. Look at that one. He's holding on by the lamp. Boy, can't you—— Now to the right…. Here we are."

"Where?" said I, slowing up.

"Here. On the right. That must be it, with the big doors."

As I climbed out of the car, seven more boys alighted from the dickey, the wings, the luggage, and the spare wheels.

A second later I found myself in a bank.

The edifice appeared to be deserted, but after a moment or two an individual came shuffling out of the shadows. My inability to speak a word of Spanish and his inability to speak a word of anything else disfavoured an intelligent conversation, but at last I elicited first that the Grand Hotel was next door, and secondly that it would not be open until July.

I imparted this pleasing information to the others.

"Closed?" said Berry. "Well, that is nice. Yes. He's quite right. Here it is in the Guide. 'Open from July to October.' I suppose a superman might have put it more plainly, but it's a pretty broad hint. And now what shall we do? Three months is rather long to wait, especially as we haven't had any tea. Shall we force an entry? Or go on to Madrid?"

"Fool," said Daphne. "Get in, Boy. I'm getting hungry."

I got in and started the engine.

Then I got out again with a stick.

This the seven boys, who had remounted, were not expecting.

I got in again, feeling better….

The second hotel we visited was admirably concealed.

As we were passing it for the second time, Jonah came stepping across the pavement.

"Lucky for you we got in early," he said. "We've got the last two rooms. They're on the fourth floor, they're miles apart, they're each about the size of a minute, and I don't think the beds are aired. The lift's out of order, there's no steam heat, and there are no fire-places. Both the bath-rooms have been let as bedrooms, and the garage is conveniently situated about a mile and a half away. The porter's cut his hand, so you'll have to carry up your luggage and help me with ours. Nobody speaks anything but Spanish, but that doesn't matter as much as it might, because the waiters have struck. And now look sharp, or we shan't get any dinner."

* * * * *

Bearer will bring you to where we are. Don't talk. Don't do anything. Just get into the car.

JONAH.

I stared at the words stupidly.

Then I looked at the chauffeur standing, hat in hand, and stepped into the depths of a luxurious limousine.

A moment later we were whipping over the cobbles.

It was nearly half-past seven, and I had just walked back from the garage where I had deposited Pong. Whether my instructions that the radiator was to be mended and the car to be washed had been understood and would be executed, I was almost too tired to care. I was also abominably cold. The prospect of an evening and night attended with every circumstance of discomfort was most depressing. For the fiftieth time I was wishing that we had never come.

And then at the door of the hotel I had been handed the message….

There was a foot-warmer in the limousine and a voluminous fur-rug. I settled myself contentedly. What it all meant, I had not the faintest idea. Enough that I was comfortable and was beginning to grow warm. My faith, moreover, in Jonah was profound.

The car drew up with a rush before a mansion.

As I stepped out, the chauffeur removed his hat, and the front door was opened.

I passed up the steps into the grateful shelter of a tremendous hall.

At once my coat and hat were taken from me and I was reverently invited to ascend the huge staircase. I did so in silence. At the top of the flight a waiting-woman received me and led the way.

Everywhere luxury was in evidence. There were plenty of lights, but they were all heavily shaded. So thick were the carpets that I could hardly hear my own footfalls. The atmosphere was pleasantly warm and full of the sweet scent of burning wood. What furniture I saw was very handsome. Three exquisite stalls, filched from some old cathedral, stood for a settle. A magnificent bronze loomed in a recess. At the head of the stairs was glowing a great Canaletto.

I followed my guide wonderingly….

A moment later she stopped to knock upon a door.

"Who is it?" cried Adèle.

I raised my voice, and she called to me to enter.

I opened the door into the finest bedroom that I have ever seen.

Upon the walls were panels of yellow silk, and all the silks and stuffs were grey or golden. A soft grey carpet, a deep sofa, a giant four-poster, a mighty press, a pier-glass, chairs, mirrors, table-lamps—all were in beautiful taste. An open door in one corner, admitting the flash of tiles, promised a bath-room. On the bed my dress-clothes, which I had packed for San Sebastian, lay orderly. And there, upon a chair, in front of a blazing fire, sat Adèle, lightly clothed, looking extraordinarily girlish, and cheerfully inveigling a stocking on to a small white foot.

I looked round dazedly.

"Isn't it priceless?" said Adèle. "Isn't it all priceless?" She danced across the room and flung her arms round my neck. "And I thought you were never coming. I wanted to wait for you, lad, but they wouldn't let me. But I've run a bath for you and put out all your clothes. By the way, I can't find your links anywhere. Are you sure——"

"No," I said, "I'm not. I'm not sure of anything. I'm not sure I'm awake. I'm not sure I'm alive. I'm not sure I'm not mad. 'Sure'? I don't know the meaning of the word. What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Where are we? What's it all mean?"

"My darling," said Adèle, "I've not the faintest idea."

"But——"

"Listen. You hadn't been gone five minutes before a man came into the hotel and up to Jonah. He seemed very nervous and excited, but he was very polite. He couldn't speak a word of anything but Spanish, but at last we gathered that he was asking us if we were the people who had wired to the Grand Hotel. When we said that we were, he talked faster than ever, and at last we began to understand that he'd got some rooms for us elsewhere. You can imagine our joy. Once we understood, he didn't have to ask us whether we'd come. The next minute two chauffeurs were slinging the baggage on to a couple of cars, and, after we'd managed to explain that you were coming back, Berry paid some sort of a bill and we all pushed off. When we saw this wonderful house, we nearly fainted. As far as I can see, we've got it all to ourselves. Berry and Daphne are in another room like this, about two doors away, and Jill's between us. I don't know where Jonah is. I can only imagine that the man who came is the manager of the Grand Hotel, and that this is where they put people when their own place is closed."

Unsatisfactory as it was, this seemed, roughly, the only possible explanation. Indeed, but for the magnificence of our lodging, it would have been reasonable enough. Still, we knew nothing of Spain. Perhaps this was their idea of hospitality. I began to like Pampeluna very much….

By the time I had had a hot bath I had begun to wonder whether it was worth while going on to San Sebastian.

* * * * *

We had dined in state. We had eaten an eight-course dinner, superbly cooked and admirably served. At the conclusion of our meal, folding doors had been opened, and we had passed into the shadowed comfort of a gorgeous library, where only the ceaseless flicker of a great log fire had lighted us to deep-cushioned chairs and a rich sofa, where coffee and liqueurs were set upon a low table and the broad flash of silver showed a massive cigar-box reposing conveniently upon an ebony stool.

With one consent, sitting at the feet of Epicurus, we had thrust uncertainty aside, and, thanking Heaven that we had fallen so magically upon our own, confined our conversation to the events of our journey, and compared enthusiastic notes regarding the wonders, entertainments, and perils of our drive.

From behind a big cigar Berry was slowly enumerating the accessories without which, to make life worth living, no car should ever take the road, when the door opened and a servant, bearing a salver, entered the room.

Stopping for an instant to switch on the light, the man stepped to my brother-in-law.

For a moment Berry glanced at the card. Then—

"English," he said. "'Mr. Hubert Weston Hallilay, 44 Calle de Serrano, Madrid.' Better have him in, hadn't we?" He turned to the servant and nodded. "Ask him to come in," he said.

The servant bowed and withdrew.

A moment later a fair-haired boy, perhaps twenty-three years old, was ushered into the room.

He greeted us respectfully, but with an open-hearted delight which he made no attempt to conceal.

"How d'you do? I'm most awfully glad to see you. Officially, I'm here by request. The comic mayor got hold of me. He's worried to death because he can't converse with you. I don't suppose you mind, but it's shortening his life. I've had a fearful time with him. There are about a thousand things he wants to know, and he's commissioned me to find them out without asking any questions. That, he says, would be most rude. Unofficially, I'm—well, I'm at your service. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have been here before. I'm attached to Madrid, really, but I'm putting in six weeks here—for my sins."

"You're very kind," said Berry. "Incidentally, you're a godsend—the second we've had to-day. The first, I may say, lies in five feet of water on a particularly blasted mountain-side. But don't be disconcerted. We shouldn't think of drowning you. For one thing, you're much too valuable. And now sit down, and have some cold coffee and a glass of kummel."

As he sank into a seat—

"Mr. Hallilay," said Daphne, twittering, "I can't bear it. Why are we here?"

The boy looked at her curiously. Then—

"Well," he said, "there was no other place. Even if the Grand had been open, I gather it's hardly fit…. Of course there's been the most awful mix-up. Trust Spain for that. The Post Office knew they couldn't deliver the wire. Instead of telling somebody, or communicating with Pau, they let it lie in the office till this afternoon. Then they took it to the mayor. Of course he nearly died. But, being a man of action, he got a move on. He flew round here and laid the facts before the steward—the owner happens to be away—and arranged to put this house at your disposal. Then he rushed round, borrowed a couple of cars, and spent what time he had left splitting his brain over your wire and hovering between the station and the various approaches to Pampeluna. As an inevitable result, he missed you, and when he finally had the brain-wave of inquiring at the Grand and found you'd already arrived, he nearly shot himself."

"But why—I mean," I stammered, "it's devilish good of the mayor and you and everyone, but why—in the first place, why did the Post Office take the wire to the mayor?"

Hallilay raised his eyebrows.

"Well," he said slowly, "when they saw the telegram, they realised——"

"Who sent the wire?" said Berry.

"I did," said Jonah. "I said,

Retenez lundi soir, deux grandes deux petites chambres avec salle de bain en suite, arrive en auto.

MANSEL."

For a moment I thought the boy was going to faint. Then he covered his face and began to shake with laughter….

Presently he plucked a form from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me.

"That may have been what you sent," he said jerkily, "but here's how the wire arrived."

Retenez lundi soir, deux grandes deux petites chambres avec salle de bain, suite arrive en auto.

MANOEL.

After I had read it aloud there was a long, long silence.

At length—

"I see," said Berry. "I knew our journey would be eventful, because my wife put her teeth in upside down this morning, but I little dreamed it was to be a royal progress. However, I take it one of the things the mayor would like to know is—er—what has become of—of——"

Hallilay nodded tearfully.

"That, sir," he said, "is the first and foremost question upon an unanswerable list."

* * * * *

We left Pampeluna upon the following afternoon, in response to a wire from San Sebastian peremptorily desiring us immediately to repair to that resort.

Hallilay, as good as his word, was of inestimable service. He had, indeed, dealt with the delicate situation with admirable judgment. Finally he covered our retreat in a masterly manner.

From the first he had insisted that the rôle we had unconsciously assumed must be deliberately maintained. Our scruples he had brushed to one side.

"Whatever happens, Pampeluna must never know the truth. It'd be most unpleasant for you—obviously. For the mayor—well, Spaniards are very proud, and I think it'd kill him. Very well, then. Your course, plainly, is the line of least resistance. O friends, Romans, countrymen, it's—it's too easy." He broke off and glanced meaningly about him. "I'm not much of a diplomat, but—well, the best is good enough for me."

Talk about Epicurus….