§ 8
Mrs. Plumer, of Maresett Cottage, Dymchurch, was an anxious widow woman. She had a kind, serviceable heart, but it was troubled about many things. She saved and eked out almost too much. She let most of her rooms in the summer and some even in the winter, but she hated to think of the things careless lodgers might do to her furniture. She liked everything to be in order and lodgers better looking and better behaved than Mrs. Pringle’s lodgers or Mrs. Mackinder’s lodgers. She had taken a fancy to Bobby because he had fitted in nicely when she had had only one room to spare, and because he had shaved in cold water instead of calling down as every other man lodger did—there was no bell in that room—for hot. Also he talked agreeably when he came in and out and didn’t want more at meals.
She was very pleased when he wrote to take her downstairs living-room and two bedrooms for himself and a friend for a fortnight. There were few people in Dymchurch who got “lets” in November. They might come “any time” after Tuesday.
She told Mrs. Pringle and Mrs. Mackinder that she was expecting two young gentlemen, and left them to suppose that her guests might stay on indefinitely.
On Wednesday she was excited and rather perplexed by a series of telegrams from Bobby. The first said plainly and distinctly: “Arriving with aunt about four Roothing.” That disappointed her. She would have infinitely preferred two gentlemen.
But within an hour came another wire and this said: “Error in telegram not aunt uncle sorry Roothing.”
Now what was one to make of that?
Presently the child from the Post Office was back again. “Uncle catching cold fire hot-water bottles whisky.”
The next sensational telegram announced a delay. “Tyre trouble not so soon later Roothing.”
Then came: “Sixish almost certain good fire please Roothing.”
“It’s very good of him,” said Mrs. Plumer “to keep me informed like this. But I hope the old gentleman won’t be fussy.”
The fire in the downstairs sitting-room was burning brightly at six, there was a kettle on the hob, there were not only tea-things, but whisky, sugar, glasses, and a lemon on the table and a hot-water bottle in both the beds upstairs when the fugitives arrived. Mrs. Plumer’s first feelings at the sight of Sargon were feelings of disappointment. She had allowed her mind to run away with the idea of a warm, comfortable uncle with at most a whisky-drinking cold, an uncle who would be, if not absolutely golden, at least gilt-edged. She had, if anything, exaggerated her memories of Mr. Roothing’s geniality. So soon as she held open her door at the roar and toot of the motor bicycle, she saw that her anticipations would have to be modified again. Things were rather indistinct in the deepening twilight, but she could see that Bobby wasn’t wearing the full and proper leather costume with gauntlets and goggles complete, that a real young gentleman would have worn on such an occasion and which Mrs. Pringle and Mrs. Mackinder would have respected, and that the shape he was extracting from the side-car was not the shape of a properly-expanded uncle. It looked much more like a large hen taken out of a small basket on market day.
As Sargon came into the light of the living-room, Mrs. Plumer’s disillusionment deepened and decreased. She had rarely seen so strange and weather-beaten an outcast. His blue eyes stared pitifully out of a pale face; his hair, beneath an unsuitable black felt hat, was greatly disordered. He was clad chiefly in an excessive pair of trousers which he clutched nervously to keep up; very full they were with his dressing-gown tails; his too ample white socks fell like gaiters over his old felt slippers and betrayed his distressful ankles. He looked afraid. He stared at her almost as though he anticipated an unfriendly reaction. And Bobby, too, standing beside him, looked rough and travel-worn and eventful, and not at all the self-effacing young gentleman she had remembered.
When Bobby saw the swift play of Mrs. Plumer’s expression he realized that their foothold in this pleasant, restful, firelit apartment was precarious. Happily a reserve lie he had thought of, but not hitherto used, came aptly to his mind.
“Isn’t it a shame!” he said. “They went off with his clothes. Even his socks.”
“They seem to have,” said Mrs. Plumer, “whoever they were.”
“Pure hold-up. This side of Ashford. My big bag too.”
“And where did the gentleman get the clothes he’s wearing?” she asked. Her tone was unpleasantly sceptical.
“They exchanged. I’d gone back along the road to see if I could see anything of the tyre-pump I’d dropped, never thinking anything of the sort was possible on an English high-road. (Come and sit by the fire, uncle.) And when I came back they’d gone and there he was—as you see him. Imagine my astonishment!”
“And you never sent a telegram about it!” said Mrs. Plumer.
“Too near home. I’d have got here first, anyhow. Well, we’ve had adventures enough to-day, anyhow. I’ve never known such a journey. Thank heaven, we’ve had our tea. I think the best place for uncle is bed—until we can arrange some clothes for him. What do you think, Mrs. Plumer?”
“After he’s had a good wash,” said Mrs. Plumer. She was still doubtful, but a sort of kindliness was struggling to the surface. “Weren’t you afraid when they jumped out on you, sir!” She asked Sargon directly. His blue eyes sought Bobby’s for instructions.
“It was a great shock to him,” said Bobby, “a great shock. He’s hardly got over it yet.”
“Hardly got over it yet,” said Sargon in confirmation.
“Took all your clothes off, they did. It’s shameful,” said Mrs. Plumer. “And you with a cold coming on.”
“We’ll get him to bed. Of course, if you’ve got anything for us to eat we might have it first here. Perhaps just a bit of toasted cheese or Welsh Rarebit, or something of that sort, and a good hot grog. Eh, uncle?”
“Don’t want much to eat,” said Sargon. “No.”
“I haven’t forgotten that Welsh Rarebit you made for me, Mrs. Plumer, after I got caught in the rain on the way from Hythe.”
“Well, I daresay I could get you a Welsh Rarebit,” said Mrs. Plumer, softening visibly.
“Famous,” said Bobby. “Make a new man of him. And meanwhile I’ll run the old bike round to the shed. If I may put it in the shed? You’ll be all right here, uncle?”
“It’s safe?”
“Every one’s safe with Mrs. Plumer,” said Bobby, and held the door open for her to precede him out of the room.
“I’ll tell you about him to-morrow morning,” he said to her confidentially in the passage. “He’s a wonderful man.”
“He’s all right?” asked Mrs. Plumer.
“Right as can be.”
“He looks that distraught!”
“He’s a poet,” said Bobby, “besides playing on the violin,” and so satisfied her completely.
But he did not feel that he had brought the wonderful day to a completely successful end until he had got Sargon washed and brushed and tucked up cosily in Mrs. Plumer’s bright little best bedroom. “Now we’re anchored,” he said. He went into his own room and sat down for a time to invent things about his uncle in case Mrs. Plumer was desirous of more explicit information when he went downstairs. He decided to say “He’s eccentric,” in an impressive, elucidatory way. “And very shy.” His uncle, he would explain, was suffering from overwork, due to writing an heroic poem about the Prince of Wales’ journey round the world. He wanted a complete rest. And sea air. The more he stayed in bed and indoors the better. He filled in a few useful details of this story, sat for a little while twiddling the toes of his boots, and then got up and went downstairs. He felt sure he could carry it off all right with Mrs. Plumer. He found her waiting for him. The chief difficulty he encountered was her conviction that the police ought to be told of the highway robbery this side of Ashford at once.
“H’m,” said Bobby and for a moment he was at a loss. Then he decided. “I’ve done that already,” he said.
“But when?”
“I telephoned from an Automobile Association box. To the Ashford police. It will be in their district you know. Not in Romney Marsh. Sharp fellows, the Ashford police. I had to describe the lost clothes and everything. They don’t let much get by them.”
She took it beautifully. After that everything was easy.