LITMIR.BIZ

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mean mischief, why did he send the manuscript to London in this roundabout way?’

      ‘It’s odd, certainly. You are sure of your facts?’

      ‘Absolutely. We–er–had our agents in Paris. The memoirs were conveyed away secretly some weeks before his death.’

      ‘Yes, it looks as though there’s something in it,’ said Lord Caterham, with the same relish he had displayed before.

      ‘We have found out that they were sent to a man called Jimmy, or James, McGrath, a Canadian at present in Africa.’

      ‘Quite an Imperial affair, isn’t it?’ said Lord Caterham cheerily.

      ‘James McGrath is due to arrive by the Granarth Castle tomorrow–Thursday.’

      ‘What are you going to do about it?’

      ‘We shall, of course, approach him at once, point out the possibly serious consequences, and beg him to defer publication of the memoirs for at least a month, and in any case to permit them to be judiciously–er–edited.’

      ‘Supposing that he says “No, sir,” or “I’ll goddarned well see you in hell first,” or something bright and breezy like that?’ suggested Lord Caterham.

      ‘That’s just what I’m afraid of,’ said Lomax simply. ‘That’s why it suddenly occurred to me that it might be a good thing to ask him down to Chimneys as well. He’d be flattered, naturally, at being asked to meet Prince Michael, and it might be easier to handle him.’

      ‘I’m not going to do it,’ said Lord Caterham hastily. ‘I don’t get on with Canadians, never did–especially those that have lived much in Africa!’

      ‘You’d probably find him a splendid fellow–a rough diamond, you know.’

      ‘No, Lomax. I put my foot down there absolutely. Somebody else has got to tackle him.’

      ‘It has occurred to me,’ said Lomax, ‘that a woman might be very useful here. Told enough and not too much, you understand. A woman could handle the whole thing delicately and with tact–put the position before him, as it were, without getting his back up. Not that I approve of women in politics–St Stephen’s is ruined, absolutely ruined, nowadays. But woman in her own sphere can do wonders. Look at Henry’s wife and what she did for him. Marcia was magnificent, unique, a perfect political hostess.’

      ‘You don’t want to ask Marcia down for this party, do you?’ asked Lord Caterham faintly, turning a little pale at the mention of his redoubtable sister-in-law.

      ‘No, no, you misunderstand me. I was speaking of the influence of women in general. No, I suggest a young woman, a woman of charm, beauty, intelligence?’

      ‘Not Bundle? Bundle would be no use at all. She’s a red-hot Socialist if she’s anything at all, and she’d simply scream with laughter at the suggestion.’

      ‘I was not thinking of Lady Eileen. Your daughter, Caterham, is charming, simply charming, but quite a child. We need some one with savoir faire, poise, knowledge of the world–Ah, of course, the very person. My cousin Virginia.’

      ‘Mrs Revel?’ Lord Caterham brightened up. He began to feel that he might possibly enjoy the party after all. ‘A very good suggestion of yours, Lomax. The most charming woman in London.’

      ‘She is well up in Herzoslovakian affairs too. Her husband was at the Embassy there, you remember. And, as you say, a woman of great personal charm.’

      ‘A delightful creature,’ murmured Lord Caterham.

      ‘That is settled, then.’

      Mr Lomax relaxed his hold on Lord Caterham’s lapel, and the latter was quick to avail himself of the chance.

      ‘Bye-bye, Lomax, you’ll make all the arrangements, won’t you?’

      He dived into a taxi. As far as it is possible for one upright Christian gentleman to dislike another upright Christian gentleman, Lord Caterham disliked the Hon George Lomax. He disliked his puffy red face, his heavy breathing, and his prominent earnest blue eyes. He thought of the coming weekend and sighed. A nuisance, an abominable nuisance. Then he thought of Virginia Revel and cheered up a little.

      ‘A delightful creature,’ he murmured to himself. ‘A most delightful creature.’

      Chapter 4

      Introducing a Very Charming Lady

      George Lomax returned straightway to Whitehall. As he entered the sumptuous apartment in which he transacted affairs of State, there was a scuffling sound.

      Mr Bill Eversleigh was assiduously filing letters, but a large armchair near the window was still warm from contact with a human form.

      A very likeable young man, Bill Eversleigh. Age at a guess, twenty-five, big and rather ungainly in his movements, a pleasantly ugly face, a splendid set of white teeth and a pair of honest brown eyes.

      ‘Richardson sent up that report yet?’

      ‘No, sir. Shall I get on to him about it?’

      ‘It doesn’t matter. Any telephone messages?’

      ‘Miss Oscar is dealing with most of them. Mr Isaacstein wants to know if you can lunch with him at the Savoy tomorrow.’

      ‘Tell Miss Oscar to look in my engagement book. If I’m not engaged, she can ring up and accept.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘By the way, Eversleigh, you might ring up a number for me now. Look it up in the book. Mrs Revel, 487 Pont Street.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Bill seized the telephone book, ran an unseeing eye down a column of M’s, shut the book with a bang and moved to the instrument on the desk. With his hand upon it, he paused, as though in sudden recollection.

      ‘Oh, I say, sir, I’ve just remembered. Her line’s out of order. Mrs Revel’s, I mean. I was trying to ring her up just now.’

      George Lomax frowned.

      ‘Annoying,’ he said, ‘distinctly annoying.’ He tapped the table undecidedly.

      ‘If it’s anything important, sir, perhaps I might go round there now in a taxi. She is sure to be in at this time in the morning.’

      George Lomax hesitated, pondering the matter. Bill waited expectantly, poised for instant flight, should the reply be favourable.

      ‘Perhaps that would be the best plan,’ said Lomax at last. ‘Very well, then, take a taxi there, and ask Mrs Revel if she will be at home this afternoon at four o’clock as I am very anxious to see her about an important matter.’

      ‘Right, sir.’

      Bill seized his hat and departed.

      Ten minutes later, a taxi deposited him at 487 Pont Street. He rang the bell and executed a loud rat-tat on the knocker. The door was opened by a grave functionary to whom Bill nodded with the ease of long acquaintance.

      ‘Morning, Chilvers, Mrs Revel in?’

      ‘I believe, sir, that she is just going out.’

      ‘Is that you, Bill?’ called a voice over the banisters. ‘I thought I recognized that muscular knock. Come up and talk to me.’

      Bill looked up at the face that was laughing down on him, and which was always inclined to reduce him–and not him alone–to a state of babbling incoherency. He took the stairs two at a time and clasped Virginia Revel’s outstretched hands tightly in his.

      ‘Hullo, Virginia!’

      ‘Hullo, Bill!’

      Charm is a very peculiar thing; hundreds of young women, some of them more beautiful than Virginia Revel, might have said ‘Hullo, Bill,’ with exactly the same

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