Free Ne'er Do Well by Dornford Yates

conditional mood.’
    â€œI laughed.
    â€œâ€˜You won’t be called tomorrow. I can’t say more than that – except, Mr Dallas, that I am greatly obliged. Please keep this to yourself.’
    â€œâ€˜Depend upon that, Superintendent. May I ask how you’re getting on?’
    I shrugged my shoulders.
    â€œâ€˜Routine stuff, for the moment. No more than that.’
    â€œâ€˜Have you seen any other patients?’
    â€œâ€˜Yes, I’ve just visited two.’
    â€œâ€˜Have you made the acquaintance of Mr Berryman?’
    â€œâ€˜Yes,’ I said. ‘How did you know he was here?’
    â€œâ€˜St Amant told me that.’
    â€œâ€˜How did he know?’
    â€œâ€˜He saw him from the terrace, before I called to him. St Amant was laughing about it.’
    â€œâ€˜Why?’
    â€œâ€˜Apparently Berryman’s one of these Eton and Labour lads. Urges the dockers to strike, and then goes home to bed in Grosvenor Square. His father and St Amant’s were lifelong friends, and when Berryman went to Eton, St Amant was asked to keep an eye on him. In fact, for a while, he was St Amant’s fag. ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘he doesn’t do me much credit.’ ‘I hope you thrashed him,’ I said. ‘I had to once or twice. Not for his failings as a fag, but for breaches of discipline. He had to be fired in the end. And he’s gone on as he began. Conscientious Objector in the War, and stoking the fires of class-hatred right and left. In view of the speeches he makes, it’s rather amusing to find such a fellow here.’ ‘I hope,’ I said, ‘I hope he’s confined to his room.’ ‘I hope so, too,’ said St Amant, thoughtfully.’
    â€œâ€˜An unpleasant type,’ I said. ‘I must confess he didn’t appeal to me.’
    â€œâ€˜The king of cads,’ said Dallas. ‘I don’t mind honest Labour. For a man like John Burns, I have an immense respect. But I cannot stand these bastards. You’re sure he’s confined to bed? I don’t want him walking in here.’
    â€œâ€˜I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure you could deal with him.’
    â€œâ€˜Perhaps. But I have reached an age, Superintendent, at which friction of any kind has become repugnant to me. It was not always so. I used to enjoy a really sharp dispute. Let us say that my rapier was loose. But now, at sixty-two, I’m much more peaceable. I hope Dracona is not a thorn in your side.’
    â€œâ€˜Oh, no,’ said I. ‘She doesn’t like it, of course: but I think she understands that I’m out to help.’
    â€œâ€˜What a man!’ said Dallas. ‘Dracona eats out of his hand.’
    â€œâ€˜I never said that,’ said I.
    â€œâ€˜I know, I know. Miracles are in your line. You’re heading for canonization. If you go on like this, you’ll become St Falcon of Ne’er-do-well. Pilgrims will repair in great numbers to Scotland Yard. By the way, have you seen your star turn?’
    â€œâ€˜Yes, I have.’
    â€œâ€˜Isn’t she a winner? All wrong for her to be here. Born to be a chatelaine – the mistress of a proud duchy, the mother of glorious sons. The veil, you know, has much to answer for.’
    â€œAs I got to my feet–
    â€œâ€˜I’m afraid,’ I said, ‘there’s something in what you say.’
    â€œâ€˜But what a man!’ said Dallas.
    â€œWe, both of us, laughed at that, and I took my leave.
    â€œI saw a sister and asked where the House Surgeon was. She asked me to wait, and, after three or four minutes, Paterson came. By my desire we sought a consulting room.
    â€œâ€˜Here’s your draft statement,’ I said. ‘Will you look it through and make what corrections you please?’
    â€œâ€˜For the Coroner?’
    â€œâ€˜Yes.’
    â€œHe read it