“No.”
“Something wrong with the old tum?”
“No. — Worried.”
“Worried?”
“About Derek.”
“Derek? Who’s — ? Oh, you mean Underhill?”
“Yes.”
Algy Martyn chased an elusive piece of carrot about his soup plate, watching it interestedly as it slid coyly from the spoon.
“Oh?” he said, with sudden coolness. “What about him?”
Freddie was too absorbed in his subject to notice the change in his friend’s tone.
“A dashed unpleasant thing,” he said, “happened yesterday morning at my place. I was just thinking about going out to lunch, when the door-bell rang and Parker said a chappie of the name of Mason would like to see me. I didn’t remember any Mason, but Parker said the chappie said he knew me when I was a kid. So he loosed him into the room, and it turned out to be a fellow I used to know years ago down in Worcestershire. I didn’t know him from Adam at first, but gradually the old bean got to work, and I placed him. Wally Mason his name was. Rummily enough, he had spoken to me at the Leicester that night when the fire was, but not being able to place him, I had given him the miss somewhat. You know how it is. Chappie you’ve never been introduced to says something to you in a theatre, and you murmur something and sheer off. What?”
“Absolutely,” agreed Algy Martyn. He thoroughly approved of Freddie’s code of etiquette. Sheer off. Only thing to do.
“Well, anyhow, now that he had turned up again and told me who he was, I began to remember. We had been kids together, don’t you know. (What’s this? Salmon? Oh, right ho.) So I buzzed about and did the jovial host, you know; gave him a drink and a toofer, and all that sort of thing; and talked about the dear old days and what not. And so forth, if you follow me. Then he brought the conversation round to Jill. Of course he knew Jill at the same time when he knew me, down in Worcestershire, you see. We were all pretty pally in those days, if you see what I mean. Well, this man Mason, it seems, had heard somewhere about Jill losing her money, and he wanted to know if it was true. I said absolutely. Hadn’t heard any details, but Ronny had told me and Ronny had had it from some one who had stable information and all that sort of thing. ‘Dashed shame, isn’t it!’ I said. ‘She’s gone to America, you know.’ ‘I didn’t know,’ he said. ‘I understood she was going to be married quite soon.’ Well, of course, I told him that that was off. He didn’t say anything for a bit, then he said ‘Off?’ I said ‘Off.’ ‘Did she break it off?’ asked the chappie. ‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘As a matter of fact Derek broke it off.’ He said ‘Oh!’ (What? Oh yes, a bit of pheasant will be fine.) Where was I? Oh, yes. He said ‘Oh!’ Now, before this, I ought to tell you, this chappie Mason had asked me to come out and have a bit of lunch. I had told him I was lunching with Derek, and he said ‘Right ho,’ or words to that effect, ‘Bring him along.’ Derek had been out for a stroll, you see, and we were waiting for him to come in. Well, just at this point or juncture, if you know what I mean, in he came, and I said ‘Oh, what ho!’ and introduced Wally Mason. ‘Oh, do you know Underhill?’ I said, or something like that. You know the sort of thing. And then —”
Freddie broke off and drained his glass. The recollection of that painful moment had made him feverish. Social difficulties always did.
“Then what?” enquired Algy Martyn.
“Well, it, was pretty rotten. Derek held out his hand, as a chappie naturally would, being introduced to a strange chappie, and Wally Mason, giving it an absolute miss, went on talking to me just as if we were alone, you know. Look here. Here was I, where this knife is. Derek over here—this fork—with his hand out. Mason here—this bit of bread. Mason looks at his watch, and says ‘I’m sorry, Freddie, but I find I’ve an engagement for lunch. So long!’ and biffed out, without apparently knowing Derek was on the earth. I mean —” Freddie reached for his glass, “What I mean is, it was dashed embarrassing. I mean, cutting a fellow dead in my rooms. I don’t know when I’ve felt so rotten!”