Free Hot Water by Sir P G Wodehouse Page A

between him and the ring at some sensationally vital moment.
    He burned with baffled exasperation. Here he was, tied to this one-horse town, this London, miles away from all this tense human drama, and it made him feel like a caged skylark. The demon of discontent which had been troubling him became of a sudden more vigorous and active than ever. He was a young man who hated to be out of things, and Jane's communication had shown him that the living, pulsating centre of things was the Château Blissac, St Rocque, Brittany.
    But Beatrice had told him to stay in London. And Beatrice's word was law.
    And yet...
    Suddenly he emerged from his trance. His bearing was the set, resolute bearing of one who has made a great decision.
    Beatrice, when she had told him to remain in London and go to concerts, could not, he felt, have foreseen that a situation like this would arise. Briefly, what it amounted to was that he had been offered the chance of helping to bring happiness to two young hearts. Would she have him refuse it?
    Absurd.
    Besides, hadn't she given him strict instructions to stick around Blair Eggleston like a poultice? Undoubtedly. And the only way to hitch up with Blair Eggleston was to go to St Rocque.
    The whole tone of Jane's remarks had shown him how sorely his presence would be needed there. Even Jane, who loved him, had not failed to realize what a total bust her betrothed was going to be in the crisis which had arisen. All that was chivalrous in Packy revolted at the thought of the poor child having to lean on so weak a reed.
    Blair Eggleston might be highly skilled at imitating horses' hoofs and the like, but of what avail would this accomplishment be in a situation like the present one? It was ridiculous to suppose that the determination of a woman like Mrs Gedge could ever be broken down by such means. If Blair Eggleston were to stand in front of Mrs Gedge by the hour, doing imitation glass-crashes or rubbing two coco-nuts together to create the illusion of distant thunder, she would simply laugh at him.
    No! What was required, as Jane had pointed out, was a man of action and resource.
    He took up the magazine and read once more the advertisement of the Auxiliary Yawl, Flying Cloud. He noted the address of the agents responsible for her chartering. He went to the writing-table and began to compose a careful letter to Beatrice, informing her that, feeling a little run down and in need of a change, he had decided after all to take a short vacation. He proposed, accordingly, to start at once for the quaint Breton town of St Rocque, because there he would have a chance of learning a little French, and you never knew when French might not come in useful. Every man, wrote Packy, ought to know at least one language besides his own.
    He opened the letter again to add a postscript to the effect that there was probably a picture gallery in St Rocque. Then, sealing and stamping the envelope, he wrote to the agents for the Auxiliary Yawl, Flying Cloud, announcing his intention of calling upon them first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER 3
     
    I N the days when St Rocque was merely a fishing village, there was built in its harbour a small stone jetty. To it the fishermen tied their boats and on it they spread their nets to dry in the sun. You do not see many nets there nowadays, for the descendants of those fishermen have for the most part given up their ancient trade, finding it more profitable to hire their craft out to summer visitors. Two days after Packy Franklyn had set out on his voyage, a willowy young man with a pleasant face marred at the moment by a slight pallor was standing on the jetty steps endeavouring with the assistance of a voluble son of the sea in high boots and a blue jersey to climb into a small and unsafe-looking row-boat.
    The Vicomte de Blissac, on arriving in his native town, had immediately registered at the Hotel des Etrangers. This, seeing that he was expected as a guest at the Château, may seem