The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile "Sapper". Sapper
and waiting for him at the hotel was his wife, utterly unsuspecting—his wife, the woman Jim loved. Don't make any mistake about that point—Jim loved her, and she wasn't far off loving Jim. But she was straight, and she was white, and she had come out to join her husband.
"It was Jim who decided. He might have taken Blair to the hotel as he was, and then waited for the inevitable end that could not be long delayed. But he didn't: he gave the man a bottle of gin and turned him into something comparatively normal. You see, as I've told you before, with Blair the position of things was reversed. Blair drunk was normal: Blair sober was just a dreadful nightmare. And it seemed to Jim that it was the only way of playing the game. But you could hardly expect the girl to understand that.
"What Blair said to her I don't know. I suppose she found him peculiar and changed—I suppose he tried to make some pitiful excuse. At any rate she found out that he had just drunk a complete bottle of gin. He'd gone to the hotel with Jim, and it was Jim she blamed. She thought he'd deliberately gone out of his way to make her husband drunk. Which was no more than the truth, but not for the reason which she imagined.
"I suppose she knew Jim was in love with her, and thought he hoped by this method to blacken her husband in her eyes. So she called Jim a cur, and told him she never wished to see him again. And Jim never said a word nor would he let MacAndrew or me explain. He just stood there until she'd finished—and at the top of the stairs stood her husband with his hands shaking and his lips trembling and a look of pitiable entreaty in his eyes. One could almost hear him saying, 'Don't give me away.' And Jim didn't. He turned on his heel and went out into the night, and he's never seen her since that day. We went off together next morning on the boat."
"But it was big, Dick—big," said Molly, and her eyes were shining. "And she knows now, anyway."
"Yes—she knows now," I answered. "During the remaining six months of his life she must have seen him sober fairly often. And maybe MacAndrew put her wise later."
"So it's all come right after all," cried Molly. "You'll tell Jim, and he'll go round and they'll meet again."
"I shall tell Jim right enough," I answered. "But he's a queer, proud sort of blighter, you know, and—"
"You don't mean to say," interrupted Molly, "that you think he'll be such an ass as to stick in his toes and jib?"
"Dash it all!" I said rather feebly, "you must admit that it's a bit galling to a fellow to be abused like a pickpocket for doing one of the whitest things he could possibly have done."
"That was years ago," cried Molly scornfully. "He ought to have forgotten all about it by this time."
"Well, he hasn't," I said. "Besides, how do you know that she is in love with him?"
"Because I saw her face when you mentioned his name."
"You weren't looking at her: you were looking at me."
"My dear boy," said Molly kindly, "don't expose your limitations too much. These things are a little beyond you. I have definitely decided that Jim and Sheila Bernie—or Blair, whichever you prefer—are to be married on the same day as you and I. You will, therefore, tell him where she is to be found, and if necessary conduct him to her shop tomorrow morning personally. You will then leave them alone, and engage a table for four at the Ritz for lunch."
"Bismillah!" I murmured, and consumed a cup of cold tea. "Everything shall be as you say." And up to a point it was. I dined with Jim that night, and over the port I told him.
"I've some wonderful news for you, old man. Who do you think I saw this afternoon?"
He sat very still staring at me.
"She's running a hat shop down in Sloane Street. I was in there with Molly today. And she wants to see you, and apologise for the mistake she made that night in Tampico."
"You've seen her, Dick?" he said at length. "Tell me—how does she look?"
"Prettier than ever, as you'll see for yourself tomorrow morning."
For the life of me I couldn't keep my voice quite steady, there was such a wonderful look in old Jim's eyes.
"You're to go round," I went on gruffly, "and you are to bring her to lunch with Molly and me at the Ritz. It's all fixed up. You're to tell her to shut up her shop for the remainder of the day."
He gave a little whimsical smile, and laid his hand on my shoulder as we strolled out of the dining-room.
"Methinks I see the work of one Molly in that arrangement, Dick, my boy. Bless both your hearts! And in the meantime only the old brandy can do justice to the occasion."
And so we fell to yarning till the reproachful eye of the waiter woke us to the fact that the last member had left half an hour previously. They were good years to look back on, those we had spent together, and now he, as well as I, had the wonderful years to look forward to also. So we had one final one, and after that the absolute definite last, and then Jim came with me to the door. Just for a few moments we stood there, and instinctively our eyes went up to the star-studded sky of the soft May night.
"Fine weather, old Dick; fine weather in front. And happy days behind. Surely the world is good."
And with the grip of his hand still on mine I walked back 4 to my own club.
* * * * *
Now what on earth more could I have done than that? I'd given him the address of the hat shop; I'd told him she wanted to see him, and short of taking him there in a taxi and pushing him through the door I fail to see that I deserved the withering contempt poured on me next day by Molly at the Ritz.
"I've got a table for four," I began brightly as I saw her.
"Then you can countermand it," she remarked, "and order one for two. Not that you deserve to have anyone at all to lunch with you, but since I'm hungry I don't mind."
"Good heavens!" I cried, "you don't mean to say they've gone and messed it up?"
Molly gurgled suddenly.
"When you see him you ask him why he doesn't buy his matches wholesale in future. It would save such a lot of time."
"When you've quite finished talking in riddles," I murmured resignedly, "perhaps you'll condescend to explain." Once again she gurgled.
"Oh, Dick, what an angel he is! We were both up in the work-room, watching—"
"What on earth were you doing there?"
"Buying hats, silly, and other things—and talking generally. Suddenly we saw him getting out of a taxi about fifty yards away. Dick—he'd got on a top hat, and he looked too beautiful. He glanced at the numbers of the houses, and then very slowly he started to walk towards the shop. He got slower and slower and finally he stopped altogether. I think the poor darling's collar was a little tight, judging by the way he was fingering it.
"At any rate, that was when he bought his first box of matches. Must have been, because he went into a tobacconist's. However, after about five minutes he emerged—'rapidly crossed the road, strode furiously down the other side as if no such place as Bernie's existed, and bought another box of matches from an old man selling them in the gutter.
"After that he went off for a little ta-ta by himself, because he was not seen for quite five minutes. Then he appeared on our side of the street again, only coming from the other way. My dear, how so many tobacconists pay I don't know. He went to ground in another one; more matches. And then the poor old thing lost his head completely. He rushed straight past the door of the shop, and vanished into the blue. I suppose he'd exhausted the tobacconists in the near neighbourhood.
"Anyway, it was a full quarter of an hour before he appeared again, looking thoroughly grim and determined. In one hand he held a large bunch of flowers which were not in their first youth, and armed with them he advanced to the door. Marie was below—she's the assistant, and she greeted him with her best shop manner.
"Poor lamb! it was too pathetic. We were both just out of sight, listening hard. Was Miss Bernie in? Marie believed