Ian Hay

“ Rapkin accepted a second glass of very pale sherry.
“There are two things I can’t understand,” said Mr. Bloxham, whose bluff and candid disposition enabled him at all times to criticize his friends without insincerity or false delicacy—“first of all, why your boss should invite a little whippersnapper like you to lunch, especially at the Ritz, and, secondly, why he should invite a girl to meet you. When I go out to lunch with a girl, I'm darned if I ever take anybody else with me.” (Mr. Bloxham was the gay bachelor of a district almost exclusively connubial.) ”

“ Rapkin shook his head dismally.
“I don't like it,” he said. “Supposing Miss Valentine does n’t understand? Supposing she says she’s not Bloxham? Supposing she goes on saying it? Supposing she won’t let me ring off? Supposing she keeps on ringing me up?”
“Shout her down!” said Mr. Bloxham. “Keep on talking in a rather boisterous, masterful sort of way, like this: ‘That’s all right, old friend! It's no use pressing me, because I can’t do it! But ring me up at the office on Monday, and we'll make another appointment.’ And so on. All you want is a bit of nerve.” He looked round the room. ”

“ Rapkin regarded him curiously.
“No,” she said, “you don’t seem yourself. You are n’t even attending to what I am saying. Your mind's wandering. You’ve been smoking and sitting up late all the time I have been away, I suppose. I’ll give you something before you go to bed to-night that will put you right at once. Why, where are you going?”
They were still standing in the little front hall. Mr. Rapkin, having edged his way to the hat-stand, was now struggling into his coat.
“I promised,” he explained, “to look in for a chat, and a smoke, and—er—so forth, with Bloxham to-night. ”

“ Her patience was taxed to the full: it was only by summoning up her entire stock of Christian forbearance that she restrained herself from crossing the room and shaking him till his teeth rattled. At last she could bear it no longer. ”

“ Rapkin hurriedly, “we discussed music, letters, and er—er—the drama. Ultimately”—he gave a nervous cough—“I invited her to take lunch with me to-morrow, Saturday, and come to a matinée.”
Mr. Bloxham uttered a deep groan.
“Lunch!” he exclaimed. “Where?”
“The Regent Palace.”
“What made you pitch on the Regent Palace? Have you ever been there in your life?”
“No. But I happened to be discussing the whole question of restaurants with Nash only yesterday.”
“Who’s Nash?”
“Our Chief Cashier. He is rather a society sort of person. ”

“ Now you mention it, I did hear a woman's voice mixed up with his.”
“Did you hear his at all?”
“Oh, yes, certainly. At least, I thought it was his; but what with the buzzing on the wire and the—the—lady's voice, too, I could n’t be certain. Of course it may have been a practical joke on somebody's part, just to make a fool of me. You know what people are. Wh-what are you going to do, Gladys?” His wife had risen majestically to her feet. She was a large woman, and was at the moment drawn up to her full height.
“I am going to ring up Mr. Bloxham,” replied Mrs. Rapkin simply. ”

“ This evening. It appears that this afternoon Miss Valentine received some further clues which she had been waiting for, and followed them up at once. Nash is now under lock and key, and Mr. Mossop rang me up from Streatham to-night to tell me that I had been unjustly suspected, and to apologize for the unconscious indignity to which I had been submitted. He added that I am appointed Chief Cashier in Nash's place. I am to be at the office half-an-hour earlier to-morrow to take over the books. Mr. Mossop also explained to me who the lady was whom I met at lunch to-d—recently. ”

“ We’d better take no notice: it will be no use answering every time.”
“Answer this time, all the same,” replied Mrs. Rapkin. “If you will have the telephone in your house, you must take the consequences.”
Too agitated to consider whether this dark saying bore any deeper significance, Mr. Rapkin returned to the writing-table, and, assuming the same humped attitude over the instrument, once more removed the receiver.
“Are you Golders Green 7654?” inquired a voice.
“Er–er–yes, I think so,” faltered Mr. Rapkin.
“Streatham wants you,” said the voice. “Don’t go away.” Mr. ”