‘It’s a remarkably well-planned scheme, I think,’ said Frankie with pride.
‘And I don’t do anything at all?’ asked Bobby.
He still felt injured – much like a dog who has been unexpectedly deprived of a bone. This, he felt, was his own particular crime, and now he was being ousted.
‘Of course you do, darling. You grow a moustache.’ ‘Oh! I grow a moustache, do I?’ ‘Yes. How long will it take?’ ‘Two or three weeks, I expect.’ ‘Heavens! I’d no idea it was such a slow process. Can’t you speed it up?’ ‘No. Why can’t I wear a false one?’ ‘They always look so false and they twist or come off or smell of spirit gum. Wait a minute, though, I believe there is a kind you can get stuck on hair by hair, so to speak, that absolutely defies detection. I expect a theatrical wigmaker would do it for you.’ ‘He’d probably think I was trying to escape from justice.’ ‘It doesn’t matter what he thinks.’ ‘Once I’ve got the moustache, what do I do?’ ‘Put on a chauffeur’s uniform and drive the Bentley down to Staverley.’ ‘Oh, I see.’ Bobby brightened.
‘You see my idea is this,’ said Frankie: ‘Nobody looks at a chauffeur in the way they look at a person. In any case, Bassington-ffrench only saw you for a minute or two and he must have been too rattled wondering if he could change the photograph in time to look at you much. You were just a young golfing ass to him. It isn’t like the Caymans who sat opposite you and talked to you and who were deliberately trying to sum you up. I’d bet anything that seeing you in chauffeur’s uniform, Bassington-ffrench wouldn’t recognize you even without the moustache. He might just possibly think that your face reminded him of somebody – no more than that. And with the moustache it ought to be perfectly safe. Now tell me, what do you think of the plan?’ Bobby turned it over in his mind.
‘To tell you the truth, Frankie,’ he said generously, ‘I think it’s pretty good.’ ‘In that case,’ said Frankie briskly. ‘Let’s go and buy some cars. I say, I think George has broken your bed.’ ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Bobby hospitably. ‘It was never a particularly good bed.’ They descended to the garage, where a nervous-looking young man with a curious lack of chin and an agreeable smile greeted them with a vague ‘Haw, haw, haw!’ His general appearance was slightly marred by the fact that his eyes had a distinct disinclination to look in the same direction.
‘Hullo, Badger,’ said Bobby. ‘You remember Frankie, don’t you^’ Badger clearly didn’t, but he said, ‘Haw, haw, haw!’ again in an amiable manner.
‘Last time I saw you,’ said Frankie, ‘you were head downward in the mud and we had to pull you out by the legs.’ ‘No, not really?’ said Badger. ‘Why, that m-m-must have been Ww-w-wales.’ ‘Quite right,’ said Frankie. ‘It was.’ ‘I always was a p-p-putrid r-r-r-rider,’ said Badger. ‘I s-s-sstill am,’ he added mournfully.
‘Frankie wants to buy a car,’ said Bobby.
‘Two cars,’ said Frankie. ‘George has got to have one, too.
He’s crashed his at the moment.’ ‘We can hire him one,’ said Bobby.
‘Well, come and look at what we’ve got in s-s-stock,’ said Badger.
‘They look very smart,’ said Frankie, dazzled by lurid hues of scarlet and apple-green.
‘They look all right,’ said Bobby darkly.
‘That’s r-r-r-remarkably good value in a ss-second-hand Chrysler,’ said Badger.
‘No, not that one,’ said Bobby. ‘Whatever she buys has got to go at least forty miles.’ Badger cast his partner a look of reproach.
‘The Standard is pretty much on its last legs,’ mused Bobby.
‘But I think it would just get you there. The Essex is a bit too good for the job. She’ll go at least two hundred before breaking down.’ ‘All right,’ said Frankie. ‘I’ll have the Standard.’ Badger drew his colleague a little aside.
‘W-w-what do you think about p-p-price?’ he murmured.
‘Don’t want to s-s-stick a friend of yours too much. Tt-t-ten pounds?’ ‘Ten pounds is all right,’ said Frankie, entering the discussion.