A Damsel in Distress
Page 39"Send something to drink into the library, Keggs," said Lord
Belpher.
"Very good, your lordship."
"A topping idea," said Reggie. "I'll just take the old car round to
the garage, and then I'll be with you."
He climbed to the steering wheel, and started the engine. Lord
Belpher proceeded to the library, while Keggs melted away through
the green baize door at the end of the hail which divided the
servants' quarters from the rest of the house.
Reggie had hardly driven a dozen yards when he perceived his
stepmother and Lord Marshmoreton coming towards him from the
direction of the rose-garden. He drew up to greet them.
"Hullo, mater. What ho, uncle! Back again at the old homestead,
Beneath Lady Caroline's aristocratic front agitation seemed to
lurk.
"Reggie, where is Percy?"
"Old Boots? I think he's gone to the library. I just decanted him
out of the car."
Lady Caroline turned to her brother.
"Let us go to the library, John."
"All right. All right. All right," said Lord Marshmoreton
irritably. Something appeared to have ruffled his calm.
Reggie drove on. As he was strolling back after putting the car
away he met Maud.
"Hullo, Maud, dear old thing."
"Couldn't get back last night. Had to stick in town and rally round
old Boots. Couldn't desert the old boy in his hour of trial."
Reggie chuckled amusedly. "'Hour of trial,' is rather good, what?
What I mean to say is, that's just what it was, don't you know."
"Why, what happened to Percy?"
"Do you mean to say you haven't heard? Of course not. It wouldn't
have been in the morning papers. Why, Percy punched a policeman."
"Percy did what?"
"Slugged a slop. Most dramatic thing. Sloshed him in the midriff.
Absolutely. The cross marks the spot where the tragedy occurred."
Maud caught her breath. Somehow, though she could not trace the
connection, she felt that this extraordinary happening must be
better of apprehension. Her eyes twinkled delightedly.
"You don't mean to say Percy did that?"
"Absolutely. The human tiger, and what not. Menace to Society and
all that sort of thing. No holding him. For some unexplained reason
the generous blood of the Belphers boiled over, and then--zing.
They jerked him off to Vine Street. Like the poem, don't you know.
'And poor old Percy walked between with gyves upon his wrists.' And
this morning, bright and early, the beak parted him from ten quid.
You know, Maud, old thing, our duty stares us plainly in the
eyeball. We've got to train old Boots down to a reasonable weight
and spring him on the National Sporting Club. We've been letting a
champion middleweight blush unseen under our very roof tree."