Читать книгу Leathermouth - Carlton Dawe - Страница 4

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I HAPPENED to be dining in the club that night at peace with the world, or so I tried to think. That I was ever wholly at peace, or ever should be, I frequently doubted. Nature, having cast me in a temperamental mould, seemed to delight in experimenting with her creation. But all this was under the skin. I doubt if my nearest and dearest ever had more than a faint suspicion of the bunch of nerves I really was. This might have been owing to a natural repression of feeling, probably exaggerated in my case; on the other hand, it might have been the outcome of training or necessity. That there had been times when it had stood me in good stead could not be denied. There were others when it had been decidedly detrimental.

But to-night I felt sure that I had at last reaped wisdom through experience. The food was good, the wine more than excellent, and Wilson, the head waiter, who had been with me in France, was most attentive. A cheery chap was Wilson, who always unbent in the most friendly manner whenever I graced the dining-room with my presence. It was he who recommended the claret, and more than once I beamed its merits at him, and received a satisfactory acknowledgment. I think he had rather a weakness for me. I know I had for him. He was as good a head waiter as he had been a soldier, and that was high praise.

Undoubtedly I was content. Why shouldn't I be? After the storm and stress that followed 1914 I had anchored in smooth water, with the exception of an excursion now and again by way of relief from monotony. I was still in the early forties, and though a little grey was beginning to show near the ears, was sound in wind and limb. True, that one I got in the thigh just outside Gaza gave me a twinge now and again, but it might have been in the head. On the whole, there was little to complain of. Probably I should take unto myself a wife as soon as I could find a girl with courage enough to look at my ugly mug. It was about time I did if I hoped to perpetuate the race of Gantian. Not that it mattered much. There was a cousin or two in the offing ready to sail in when I foundered; good, sensible, level-headed fellows, who knew how to make the best of this world and possibly the next.

Besides, I felt convinced that I had earned a modicum of peace. We old fellows had done our bit, and it was up to the new generation to carry on. That they would I had never a doubt, and so that I was left comfortably to dawdle on to the end I cared little who took up the burden. Peace was the world's great need—and mine. To lie comfortably at night, to sleep dreamlessly, to have no dread of lurking shadows or high explosives, to feel pretty certain that when you went to bed you would wake up sound in wind and limb the next morning: there was so much to be said for all this that I had no hesitation in seizing it and hugging it to my breast.

Then I saw Wilson coming towards me, and noticed his square, soldier-like carriage.

"Excuse me, sir, but Mr. Mayford is in the club, and is asking for you."

"Thank you, Wilson; tell him to come along. How's the missis?"

"Keeping quite fit, sir, thank you."

"And the kiddies?" He had two boys.

Wilson beamed. "Coming along fine, sir."

"Going to make soldiers of them?"

He hesitated. "Well, sir, let us hope there will be no necessity."

A tactful fellow was Wilson.

"Let us hope so. Tell Mr. Mayford I'm only half through dinner."

I hadn't seen old George Mayford for quite a long time. He was rather a pot now in the political department of Scotland Yard, and always busy, while I was dangling at a loose end. But we had seen a bit together in our time, had not a few secrets in common, and were still close friends, though not quite so close as of old, owing chiefly to the fact that within the last three years he had taken to himself a wife. It makes a difference.

Presently I saw him in the entrance and waved to him. He came up and held out a big red fist. He was a red man, was old George, red of face, red of hair, and always saw red when angered. Immaculately dressed as usual, and looking as though he might prefer a good dinner to most things, one would never associate him with half the secrets, political and criminal, which troubled the British Constitution.

"The very man," he said, screwing up his eyes and looking at me from under his rather heavy ginger brows.

"Always, I hope. Have you dined?" He nodded.

"Then try this claret; it's really very good. Wilson recommended it."

I beckoned to Wilson and ordered another pint.

"You're looking very fit," I said, "in spite of—"

"Oh, I'm all right. What about you?"

"Never felt better, or more at peace with the world. It's a fine world, George."

"Is it?" he answered, not too convincingly.

"Wife all right?"

"Quite." But there was no enthusiasm in the assurance.

"Give her my love."

"Shut up!" he snapped.

Here Wilson created a mild diversion by appearing with the wine. George and I looked across our glasses at each other. Then he positively flung the good stuff down his throat. I looked at him reprovingly, though realising that he scarcely knew what he was doing. I continued to ply knife and fork assiduously.

"Rot they don't allow smoking in this room," he growled.

"This is a respectable club," I ventured.

"The stronghold of old fogydom."

"Why don't you write to the committee?"

"Lot of good that would do."

"Tradition, dear lad; must maintain tradition."

"Cobwebbed," he replied.

Evidently not in the best of humours. Something had gone wrong. I wondered if that "marvellous girl" of three years ago had developed the art of nagging, and congratulated myself on my escape from the snares of matrimony. Every moment his face seemed to grow redder. Anxiously I looked at him. He was positively glaring at me.

"How much longer are you going on with that stuffing?" he growled.

"Try another glass of wine, only give it a chance this time."

He ignored the irony. "I have come here to have a yap with you," he said.

"Fire away, my son."

"Among these babblers!" He jerked his head contemptuously, a scathing reference to the more or less discreet diners.

"What do you really think of that wine? Wilson recommended it most highly," I again assured him.

He consigned Wilson to the nether depths, and began to fidget with the set of his tie. I informed him that it was in perfect order.

"All very well for you," he growled. "You're on velvet. Nothing to do and plenty of money to do it with."

"Not plenty, George. In fact money is so tight that I'm thinking seriously of retrenchment."

"Then if I were you I'd begin by resigning from this pothouse. Of all the mouldy barns in London this is easily the first."

"Then lead on, Macduff. Show me the way."

"If I don't I shall speedily become as mildewed as the rest of you."

"Stung?"

"Horribly; and anyone but an idiot like you could see it."

"I do."

Again he glared at me from under pent brows. I almost thought his eyes were reflecting the tinge of his face. They were of a peculiar light blue shade, rather kind as a rule, but now exceedingly fierce and hard.

"Confide in me, my dear," I cooed.

He began to grin. "That's what I've come to do, you miserable tyke."

"So I imagined. Continuez, mon vieux; bore me to tears as usual."

He leant towards me, lowering his voice. "I'm in a quandary, Peter."

"Once more, as usual."

"No, it's not as usual; it's most unusual, and when you've finished gorging I'll tell you all about it."

"Am I to be spared no detail?"

"No," he snapped, "so hurry up with that fodder."

"It is finished."

"Then we'll take coffee and liqueurs in the smoking-room, if we can find a quiet corner; doubtful in a place like this with old birds snoring all over the shop."

Yet we managed to find a quiet corner undisturbed by the snoring of old birds. In the reading-room, now, which proclaimed "Silence" in capital letters over the mantelpiece, it might have been different. There the old birds, ensconced in the easiest chairs, made the welkin ring with their nasal exercises.

We ordered our liqueurs, George, I regret to say, a double in the shape of old brandy, which was not conducive to the paling of complexions, lit our cigars and sat back. Or rather I did. George fidgeted on the edge of his chair and twirled his corona corona impatiently while waiting for the liquid refreshment.

"Worst service in London," he fumed. Which was not strictly accurate. He appeared to forget that as a club we had both dignity and tradition to maintain.

But at last the waiter appeared. George gulped. It was a bad habit of his, and one to which I had frequently drawn his attention. I drew it again, and by way of thanks received a snort of contempt. He blew a vast cloud of smoke ceiling-wards, looked carefully round, and then said in a low voice, "Do you know Sir Julius Ashlin?"

"No."

"You must!"

"Then why ask me?"

And yet the name seemed familiar. I had certainly heard it somewhere, or seen it somewhere in print.

"Well, he's missing."

"I don't care."

What were all the Ashlins in the world to me? I had enjoyed a good dinner, and might have felt soothed and singularly at peace with all mankind had it not been for the incursion of this disturbing influence. And, anyway, who was Sir Julius Ashlin that I should care a brass tack whether he was missing or not? A plague on the house of Ashlin if it was going to interfere with my comfort.

"I tell you he's missing," George repeated.

"And I repeat, I don't care."

"He may be dead."

"A good job, too."

"But he's not."

"Then he ought to be. What do you think of that brandy?"

"That's the trouble," he continued, ignoring my question. "If we knew for certain that he was dead we should know where we are, more or less."

"It's usually less with you chaps when it comes to knowing anything."

"But we can't know for certain, though inclined to the belief that he is still alive, and will remain so—while there's money in him."

"I thought he sounded like money."

"He is money, big money; that's the trouble."

"It never troubled me."

"And don't be flippant. This is serious. While we could keep our eyes on him we were in touch with his activities, but his sudden disappearance leaves us hanging in the air. For certain reasons, which presently shall be made obvious even to you, we don't want this disappearance publicly to be known, and with that end in view have approached the Press to keep mum about it. If it were generally broadcast the Lord only knows what would happen."

"You said he was 'big money.' What is he, a bull or a bear?"

"Both. But there's something more than the Stock Exchange behind this." He lowered his voice and once more glared at me from under pent brows. "It's political!"

"You know I detest politics."

"It's a big, underground game, Peter, that may seriously involve the Government."

"Consequently they rely on your superlative wisdom? The matter couldn't be in more capable hands."

"Don't be a fool. You know Palestine?"

"I remember it." Incidentally I rubbed my thigh.

"You know what's going on there?"

I was beginning to see light. Palestine—Sir Julius Ashlin! Now I had it!

"Who is he, this important missing one?"

"Before the war he was Julius Vogelstein, originally from Hamburg, who for certain services rendered during a critical period of the nation's existence received a baronetcy."

I remembered him now, a man of the utmost financial importance. No wonder his disappearance was causing the authorities some little concern. An acknowledged leader of his race, his mysterious disappearance, being known, would naturally create a sensation. Though not sharing in George's alarm I began to understand it.

"It's that mischievous Balfour Declaration," he spluttered. "What else but trouble could come of it?"

"Don't speak disrespectfully of our Elder Statesmen, George, but, like me, assume that they are always actuated by the noblest motives."

"I judge by results, not motives. The whole thing is wrong, was wrong in its inception, and is doubly at fault in its handling of the situation. Why are we in Palestine?" He fairly flung the question at me.

"I thought even the political heads of your Department would know why."

"Mandate," he puffed. "Why should we take it on! Them and their mandates! America knew better. She wasn't going to waste good money and good blood on a people who would hate her for saving them."

"The glory, George, the honour, the prestige! Do these make no appeal to that sordid soul of yours? If England had always thought in terms of £ s. d. she wouldn't be what she is to-day."

"A person who allows every nondescript to dip his fingers in her pocket, and then jeer at the idea of repayment, doesn't cut much of a figure, anyway."

I suggested that the joy of giving was, like virtue, its own reward. But this did not appeal to him. He launched out into a vehement denunciation of the whole crass business. Matters vital to the welfare of the Empire were decided by what he called "administrative process," without the consent of Parliament, or people, exploiting the fads and fancies of certain doubtless well-intentioned though deplorably incompetent persons. Nor was he ready to swear by their disinterestedness. Man, being so very far removed from the angels, was always repeating the fall. There was a sinister meaning in this which suggested that he could, if he would, disclose a few facts which might shake, if not shatter, my faith in political human nature.

"We are in Palestine," I said, "because it's a job we've taken on and mean to see through. If we listened to the croakers and the faint-hearts like you, men who are always thinking of the trouble involved, not to mention the cost, we should never be anywhere or do anything. Pull yourself together, George, get out of the mud, and remember that we are a civilising Christian nation."

"I suppose that's why we worry about founding a national home for the Jews?" he sneered, which was not like old George, who, unless deeply moved, was a most amiable soul.

"Men and nations sometimes build better than they know," was my next sage remark.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"I was thinking of your disrespect of our Elder Statesmen, whose apparent dotage may have a method in it."

"I should like to know what it is. The imposition of a hated minority on a people who have owned the country for centuries can only mean one thing—disaster."

"The Jews have also certain rights in the land," I reminded him.

"Oh, I know all about the sentimental side of the question, but we are dealing with practical politics. If the Jews are anxious to migrate to Jerusalem and once more establish themselves as a nation in the city of David, by all means let them, only it should be of their own merit and initiative and not at our expense. How do you think the rightful owners of the land, the Arabs, regard it? How would you if a body from overseas were dumped down in England and given privileges in excess of those enjoyed by the natives? It didn't answer in Ireland, and it won't anywhere. It means bayonets to protect them in their privileges, and bayonets mean trouble,"

"They also subdue it."

"At a cost," he flung back.

"Are you suggesting that we allow the Jews and Arabs indiscriminately to slaughter each other?"

"You're quite idiot enough without pretending to be one." (Compliments usually flew fast and furious when he and I discussed grave political matters.) "You know as well as I do, apart from all financial considerations, that the attempt to bolster up one side at the expense of the other is bound to be a failure. What Jew of standing is likely to take up his residence in Jerusalem when he can live in London, and without men of standing how are you going to make a nation?"

"Give them time."

"I'd like to, the lot of them."

"That's more in your line than trying to understand alien race mentality. This Palestine business is really a much bigger thing than you seem to imagine. Are you utterly devoid of all patriotic sentiment? Doesn't it give you even the tiniest thrill to think of our guardianship of the Holy Places, of the land towards which every Christian looks with reverence? Why, even the toughest back-block soldier from Australia, riding into Bethlehem, knew that he was on Holy Ground, and felt that he had suddenly become not as other men."

"Perhaps! I'll bet he thought more of how and where he was going to get his next swig of beer."

"Try to realise what it means, this mandate, and what an enviable place it gives us in the estimation of the Christian world, apart from keeping intact a vital line of communication with our Empire in the East. It's a trust, George, a sacred one, and we should be a very small-souled people indeed if we betrayed that trust for the sake of a few miserable shekels. It won't do; you can't look at it like that. We have accepted a grave responsibility, and we must stick it. One of these days we'll make the desert bloom; we always do wherever we go. It's our way. I'm not going to say that we'll ever make the Jew and the Arab fall on each other's neck in an ecstasy of brotherly love, but we'll make them keep the peace, as we do the various races of India, and respect the rights of their neighbours. Moreover, if we walked out to-day some other Power would walk in to-morrow. There's more than one wouldn't mind taking on the job. But it's our job, old boy, and we're going to stick it. As to cost. . . . Well, don't forget the blood that has been spilt, cheap as it may seem. Our modern crusaders may not have the glamour of centuries behind them, but they, too, set out to free the land from the infidel, and, having freed it, they look to the new generation to maintain that freedom."

Then I stopped suddenly. I think I blushed a little. One would, seeing how George was staring. Evidently I had occasioned him considerable astonishment. But, whatever he thought, he said, "Of course there's a lot in what you say, but my business is with the practical side of life, not the romantic. At the Yard we leave romance to the writers of fiction."

"You couldn't do better, old man; they know their job. But this is not fiction. It's something more, something real and big. As governors of the country it is our duty to see that the country is governed. If we are incapable of governing we should pack our kit and clear out. But I maintain that we are capable, we always have been. The sense of justice is strong in us. The real danger is in the cranks and faddists at home, the 'man and brother business,' 'self-determination,' 'Dominion status,' and all the other shibboleths that are spluttered so wildly, chiefly by Britons of the smaller nations. Darwin's 'survival of the fittest' applies all round. Good intentions. Excellent, but not so efficacious as cannon. What one has won by the sword one must maintain by the sword, or vanish utterly. The best answer to discontent is a regiment of soldiers. Once it is known that we mean business a change will come over the face of the waters. Strong men mean what they say, and once this is fully realised by discontent there will be no more serious opposition."

"Had no idea you were so bloodthirsty," he grinned.

"As you know, I'm the most inoffensive soul on earth."

At this he gurgled audibly. "I know; always turn the other cheek to the smiter. Your reputation as a pacifist is thoroughly well-established. That's why I've looked you up to-night. I'm in search of a man who wouldn't say boo to a goose, whose natural timidity is an incalculable asset in this most provocative of worlds. Having just passed through the era of blood and iron we are now out to conquer with the soft answer."

"And begin by reducing the strength of our Army and Navy at the instigation of disinterested friends?"

"A noble gesture," said he. "Someone must show the way to the stars." Then came the significant addition, "That brandy wasn't half bad."

"If you could digest my argument as well as you do my brandy there might be hope for you."

"But I do," he said, ordering a second go. "You've got a really marvellous grip of the situation. That's why I've come to you for your advice and help. Apropos of the disappearance of Sir Julius—"

"I'm not interested in Sir Julius or his disappearance."

"But I am."

"Then why don't you get to work? You command the whole apparatus of authority."

"True. But this is where it doesn't function smoothly. You see, the law can't move openly without making a noise, and this happens to be a matter in which all noise must be avoided. As you know, this business in Palestine is most delicate. A spark carelessly dropped may set the whole country ablaze. Jew and Arab are living in a state of acutest tension, ready to fly at each other's throat, and may yet, if we don't put a charge of dynamite under the Wailing Wall and blow it to smithereens."

"There is no great danger while both sides are short of arms."

At this George looked serious. He took a swift glance round the room, and was sure that no one could hear him before he said, "That is the danger."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that arms are entering the country—and that the Arabs are getting them."

"How?"

"That's what we want to find out."

If this were true, and he was not likely to make such an assertion without authority, he had good cause to regard the situation as menacing. That arms might be smuggled anywhere in spite of all barriers could scarcely be denied, but that they could be smuggled in sufficient quantities to precipitate a serious uprising was scarcely credible.

"But what has this to do with the disappearance of Sir Julius Ashlin?"

"Ah," he said, "you're beginning to get interested?"

"Not at all."

But I was, in a way, though I could not see how the disappearance of Sir Julius could be connected with the arming of the Arabs. That such a race of fighting men, who had been mighty conquerors in their day, would tamely submit to oppression was clearly unthinkable. The combative instinct must always remain in such a people. And when a man believes that death at the hands of an infidel is a sure and immediate admittance to the most joyous of paradises you are at once confronted by an exceedingly difficult problem.

George sipped his second go of brandy, looking at me quizzingly across the rim of his glass. It was rather odd that I should have noticed his restraint in drinking, because I was thinking of something quite different.

"I can enter you on our books," he said, "as a matter of form."

Again I had to ask him what he meant.

"It will give you an official standing," he answered with a smile.

"Rushing things a bit, aren't you? I've no wish to be a policeman."

"I think it would be better, for the time being."

"I don't like you, George."

"I positively detest you, and deeply regret having to rope you in."

"Then why do it, or rather, why attempt it?"

"Because I rather fancy you may be useful. How long do you think it is since Sir Julius disappeared?"

"I don't know, and I don't care."

"Nearly a month," he continued, ignoring my remark. "In fact, to be correct, three weeks and four days. For three weeks now we have set the machine in motion, but something appears to have gone wrong with the bearings. Anyway, it refuses to function properly, and our experts have failed to discover the cause."

Again he sat back and looked at me from under those pent brows, and I stared back at him with an assumption of ease I was far from feeling. The fellow was annoying me, and I believe he knew it. That he was also waiting for me to question him was obvious, but I was determined to see him hanged first. If he had anything to say why couldn't he say it outright and not beat about the bush in this tantalising fashion?

"So you see," he said, "in spite of my abhorrence of you, I had to come along, not out of respect or admiration for your intellectual attainments, but because you are one of those fellows who have an uncanny flair for blundering on to the right thing."

"Fools step in?"

"Exactly. The angels of the Yard, having wilted most infernally in this matter, have come to borrow a feather or two from your abundant plumage. What about it?"

"About what? If you are a specimen of the 'angels of the Yard' it seems to me that their wilting hasn't stopped at feathers."

"The question is," he answered stolidly, "will you do it?"

"In the name of heaven, do what?"

"Find Sir Julius for me, and, incidentally, the cause of his disappearance."

"Not on your life. Why should I? Hang Sir Julius and his disappearance. I don't care a rap if he's never seen again. Besides, how could I hope to succeed where the combined wisdom of all the talents has failed?"

"Because, as I have already remarked, you have a most enviable knack of correct blundering, and because you're frightfully keen on this matter of the Palestine Mandate. Personally, I feel sure that his disappearance is not unconnected with it."

"Then the solution ought to be comparatively easy."

"If we could be sure, but we can't with insufficient data. To supply the necessary facts will be your job, even if it means going to Palestine to do it."

"I'll see you—"

"Though this may not be necessary," he added as a sop.

"Thank you very much."

"In fact, the whole problem may possibly be solved in London. By the way, have you ever come across Abu Benabbas?"

"No, and don't want to."

"We are more than a little interested in him, and so are you going to be before the end of the journey. He is a cultured Arab, a native of Trans-Jordania, who has spent some time in the United States, and latterly in Russia. You realise that the Soviet does not love the British Empire? There may be a connection between Benabbas's visit to Moscow and the disappearance of Sir Julius Ashlin."

"What if there is?"

"Sir Julius, whatever his origin, is now a patriotic Briton, and one who enjoys the full confidence of the Government. Some say that a certain Chancellor of the Exchequer. . . . But that may be merely an unkind rumour to account for his title. His position as an eminent financier and a prominent Zionist entitles him to the respect and consideration of our Elder Statesmen. Benabbas also happens to be a patriotic Arab. Is the light beginning to dawn on your dim intelligence?"

"It would need a super-intelligence to follow your maze of meandering."

He smiled. "Though your beauty will never make of you a film star or a matinee idol, you have a way with you, Peter, when you choose, which I admit is not frequent. I also understand that you are not unknown to some decent people, who harbour the gross error that you have a reputation for courage and initiative, a certain important personage being among them. How you came by this reputation heaven, or perhaps a certain Intelligence Department, alone could tell. It was this important personage who admitted that you might be employed with advantage."

"Very kind of him, whoever he is."

"He's really quite a decent chap, or would be if science could discover some remedy for a swelled head. Possibly most of us who have the handling of things and men are similarly afflicted. But to return to our Sir Julius. Naturally many theories have been advanced to account for his disappearance, among them, loss of memory, kidnapping, and blackmail. There is also the possibility that he has purposely hidden himself for purely private reasons. This his friends are disinclined to credit. Therefore we have to fall back on one of the first three. As, up to the moment of his disappearance, he was in his usual normal health, loss of memory has been set aside as incredible. This leaves us with kidnapping and blackmail. Are you picking up the scent, old Leathermouth?"

"Not at all."

But I didn't in the least like being reminded of that nickname which I had acquired in the Near East. I swear I haven't a leather mouth, and will die rather than admit it. Leather cheeks, if you like, and two lines on either side of the mouth like cart ruts; but as to the mouth itself, I'll take my oath it's not at all bad as mouths go.

"I think you will be; in fact, I'm sure of it. You see, it's a patriotic duty." Cunning dog; but I wasn't to be trapped by that bait.

"Bunk! I've had enough of patriotic duties. Let the youngsters carry on."

"All in good time. And, as I said before, it might help you to have official standing of some sort. Though, in any case, you can have as many of my men as you want."

"I want neither you nor your men, so clear out."

"But I want you, old son, and you're going to stand by me. You see, I'm expected to make some sort of job of this, and if I fail I may have to bid a long farewell to promotion. You like the missis, don't you?"

"She hates me."

"And the kiddy?"

"The kiddy's all right. Lucky for him he doesn't take after you."

"So I think. Well?"

"Any more sob stuff?"

"No wonder they called you Leathermouth. Have no more sentiment in you than an old boot."

I ignored the reflection on my mouth, which, of all my unprepossessing features, was the one I had a particular weakness for. So I said, "Don't be an ass, darling. You know I'd risk life and limb to win a smile from your missis. But in what way can I help you or her? I'm on the shelf, George, preserved in spirits of wine, and not even a specimen of unusual interest. And on the shelf I intend to remain until such time as it pleases providence to break the bottle and disperse my elements to the four winds of heaven."

"I don't know about heaven," he growled.

"Neither do I. But let it go, and with it Zion and all its movements. I like this quiet life, this ambling about the streets trying to get run over. I like looking at the girls, and wish one of them would occasionally look at me. I like going to bed at ten o'clock, turning on my lamp and reading myself to sleep. I like to be in bed of a morning and listen to the rain on the windows, glad that I haven't to rise and trudge to work, while pitying the poor devils who have to. And, above all, I like to feel that there's no fear of a bullet through my brain or a knife at my gorge. And you would rob me of this peace, lead me into temptation, stir the blissful apathy of my blood till it urges me to irrevocable disaster, and you call yourself my friend."

He glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece and then sprang to his feet. "Lord, I shall catch it," he said.

"Tell her you were with me. It may mean another bouquet or two, but I'm accustomed to having it said with flowers."

"It's your bed time," he informed me. "Go home, turn on that lamp of yours, and think it over. Then in he morning ring me up and come along to the office for final instructions."

With that he went, grinning like a big red bear, and I rang for the smoking-room waiter. Stimulant, and still more stimulant, was necessary if I hoped to obliterate the memory of his hateful presence. Of course he knew I would think it over, the cunning old scoundrel. Probably he would return to Mrs. George and tell her that I had as good as joined the Force, and that if he hadn't already shoved me into the uniform my transformation was merely a question of time. We should see. I rather thought the end would find the laugh on the wrong side of George's mouth.