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Page 118
"You write them? You don't mean, write them!"
"Yes."
"Great Scott!"
He would have gone on, doubtless, to say more; but at this moment
voices made themselves heard outside the door. There was a
movement of feet. Then the door opened and a small procession
entered.
It was headed by the Earl of Emsworth. Following him came Mr.
Peters. And in the wake of the millionaire were Colonel Horace
Mant and the Efficient Baxter. They filed into the room and stood
by the bedside. Ashe seized the opportunity to slip out.
Freddie glanced at the deputation without interest. His mind was
occupied with other matters. He supposed they had come to inquire
after his ankle and he was mildly thankful that they had come in
a body instead of one by one. The deputation grouped itself about
the bed and shuffled its feet. There was an atmosphere of
awkwardness.
"Er--Frederick!" said Lord Emsworth. "Freddie, my boy!"
Mr. Peters fiddled dumbly with the coverlet. Colonel Mant cleared
his throat. The Efficient Baxter scowled. "Er--Freddie, my dear
boy, I fear we have a painful--er--task to perform."
The words struck straight home at the Honorable Freddie's guilty
conscience. Had they, too, tracked him down? And was he now to be
accused of having stolen that infernal scarab? A wave of relief
swept over him as he realized that he had got rid of the thing. A
decent chappie like that detective would not give him away. All
he had to do was to keep his head and stick to stout denial. That
was the game--stout denial.
"I don't know what you mean," he said defensively.
"Of course you don't--dash it!" said Colonel Mant. "We're coming
to that. And I should like to begin by saying that, though in a
sense it was my fault, I fail to see how I could have acted---"
"Horace!"
"Oh, very well! I was only trying to explain."
Lord Emsworth adjusted his pince-nez and sought inspiration from
the wall paper.
"Freddie, my boy," he began, "we have a somewhat unpleasant--a
somewhat er--disturbing--We are compelled to break it to you. We
are all most pained and astounded; and--"
The Efficient Baxter spoke. It was plain he was in a bad temper.
"Miss Peters," he snapped, "has eloped with your friend Emerson."
Lord Emsworth breathed a sigh of relief.
"Exactly, Baxter. Precisely! You have put the thing in a
nutshell. Really, my dear fellow, you are invaluable."
All eyes searched Freddie's face for signs of uncontrollable
emotion. The deputation waited anxiously for his first
grief-stricken cry.
"Eh? What?" said Freddie.
"It is quite true, Freddie, my dear boy. She went to London with
him on the ten-fifty."
"And if I had not been forcibly restrained," said Baxter acidly,
casting a vindictive look at Colonel Mant, "I could have
prevented it."
Colonel Mant cleared his throat again and put a hand to his
mustache.
"I'm afraid that is true, Freddie. It was a most unfortunate
misunderstanding. I'll tell you how it happened: I chanced to be
at the station bookstall when the train came in. Mr. Baxter was
also in the station. The train pulled up and this young fellow
Emerson got in--said good-by to us, don't you know, and got in.
Just as the train was about to start, Miss Peters exclaiming,
'George dear, I'm going with you---, dash it,' or some such
speech--proceeded to go--hell for leather--to the door of young
Emerson's compartment. On which---"
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