Part 21 (2/2)

”And in the third,” said Derek grimly, as the sound of a procession advancing down a corridor came from round the corner, ”you're being inspected to-day, and that--if I mistake not--is the great pan-jan-drum himself.”

”Oh! good Heavens. Derek, I'd forgotten. Do go, for goodness' sake.

Run--I shall be sacked.”

”I shall not go. As the great man himself rounds that corner I shall kiss you with a loud trumpeting noise.'

”You brute! Oh! what shall I do?--there they are. Come in here.” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into a small deserted sitting-room close by.

”You darling,” he remarked and promptly kissed her. ”Monica, dear, you must listen----”

”Sit down, you idiot. I'm sure they saw me. You must pretend you're a patient just come in. I know I shall be sacked. The General is dreadfully particular. Put this thermometer in your mouth. Quick, give me your hand--I must take your pulse.”

”I think,” said a voice outside the door, ”that I saw--er--a patient being brought into one of these rooms.”

”Surely not, sir. These rooms are all empty.” The door opened and the cavalcade paused. ”Er--Lady Monica... really.”

”A new patient, Colonel,” she remarked. ”I am just taking his temperature.” Derek, his eyes partially closed, lay back in a chair, occasionally uttering a slight groan.

”The case looks most interesting.” The General came and stood beside him. ”Most interesting. Have you--er--diagnosed the symptoms, sister?”

His lips were twitching suspiciously.

”Not yet, General. The pulse is normal--and the temperature”--she looked at the thermometer--”is--good gracious me! have you kept it properly under your tongue?” She turned to Derek, who nodded feebly. ”The temperature is only 93.” She looked at the group in an awestruck manner.

”Most remarkable,” murmured the General. ”One feels compelled to wonder what it would have been if he'd had the right end in his mouth.” Derek emitted a hollow groan. ”And where do you feel it worst, my dear boy?”

continued the great man, gazing at him through his eyegla.s.s.

”Dyspepsia, sir,” he whispered feebly. ”Dreadful dyspepsia. I can't sleep, I--er--Good Lord!” His eyes opened, his voice rose, and with a fixed stare of horror he gazed at the door. Through it with due solemnity came James Henry holding in his mouth a furless and very dead cat. He advanced to the centre of the group--laid it at the General's feet--and having sneezed twice sat down and contemplated his handiwork: his tail thumping the floor feverishly in antic.i.p.ation of well-merited applause.

It was possibly foolish, but, as Derek explained afterwards to Monica, the situation had pa.s.sed beyond him. He arose and confronted the General, who was surveying the scene coldly, and with a courtly exclamation of ”Your cat, I believe, sir,” he pa.s.sed from the room.

The conclusion of this dreadful drama may be given in three short sentences.

The first was spoken by the General. ”Let it be buried.” And it was so.

The second was whispered by Lady Monica--later. ”Darling, I had to _say_ we were engaged: it looked so peculiar.” And it was even more so.

The third was snorted by James Henry. ”First I'm beaten and then I'm kissed. d.a.m.n all cats!”

PART TWO

THE LAND OF TOPSY TURVY

<script>