The close time for impersonation efforts came to an end with the final withdrawal of Moritz and Augusta from the piano. Blanche Boveal retired early, leaving the room in a series of laboured leaps that she hoped might be recognised as a tolerable imitation of Pavlova. Vera Durmot, the sixteen-year-old flapper, expressed her confident opinion that the performance was intended to typify Mark Twain's famous jumping frog, and her diagnosis of the case found general acceptance. Another guest to set an example of early bed-going was Waldo Plubley, who conducted his life on a minutely regulated system of time-tables and hygienic routine. Waldo was a plump, indolent young man of seven-and-twenty, whose mother had early in his life decided for him that he was unusually delicate, and by dint of much coddling and home-keeping had succeeded in ****** him physically soft and mentally peevish. Nine hours' unbroken sleep, preceded by elaborate breathing exercises and other hygienic ritual, was among the indispensable regulations which Waldo imposed on himself, and there were innumerable small observances which he exacted from those who were in any way obliged to minister to his requirements; a special teapot for the decoction of his early tea was always solemnly handed over to the bedroom staff of any house in which he happened to be staying.
No one had ever quite mastered the mechanism of this precious vessel, but Bertie van Tahn was responsible for the legend that its spout had to be kept facing north during the process of infusion.
On this particular night the irreducible nine hours were severely mutilated by the sudden and by no means noiseless incursion of a pyjama-clad figure into Waldo's room at an hour midway between midnight and dawn.
"What is the matter? What are you looking for?"asked the awakened and astonished Waldo, slowly recognising Van Tahn, who appeared to be searching hastily for something he had lost.
"Looking for sheep," was the reply.
"Sheep?" exclaimed Waldo.
"Yes, sheep. You don't suppose I'm looking for giraffes, do you?""I don't see why you should expect to find either in my room," retorted Waldo furiously.
"I can't argue the matter at this hour of the night," said Bertie, and began hastily rummaging in the chest of drawers. Shirts and underwear went flying on to the floor.
"There are no sheep here, I tell you," screamed Waldo.
"I've only got your word for it," said Bertie, whisking most of the bedclothes on to the floor; "if you weren't concealing something you wouldn't be so agitated."Waldo was by this time convinced that Van Tahn was raving mad, and made an anxious, effort to humour him.
"Go back to bed like a dear fellow," he pleaded, "and your sheep will turn up all right in the morning.""I daresay," said Bertie gloomily, "without their tails. Nice fool I shall look with a lot of Manx sheep."And by way of emphasising his annoyance at the prospect he sent Waldo's pillows flying to the top of the wardrobe.
"But WHY no tails?" asked Waldo, whose teeth were chattering with fear and rage and lowered temperature.
"My dear boy, have you never heard the ballad of Little Bo-Peep?" said Bertie with a chuckle. "It's my character in the Game, you know. If I didn't go hunting about for my lost sheep no one would be able to guess who I was; and now go to sleepy weeps like a good child or Ishall be cross with you."
"I leave you to imagine," wrote Waldo in the course of a long letter to his mother, "how much sleep I was able to recover that night, and you know how essential nine uninterrupted hours of slumber are to my health."On the other hand he was able to devote some wakeful hours to exercises in breathing wrath and fury against Bertie van Tahn.
Breakfast at Blonzecourt was a scattered meal, on the "come when you please" principle, but the house-party was supposed to gather in full strength at lunch. On the day after the "Game" had been started there were, however, some notable absentees. Waldo Plubley, for instance, was reported to be nursing a headache. A large breakfast and an "A.B.C." had been taken up to his room, but he had made no appearance in the flesh.
"I expect he's playing up to some character," said Vera Durmot; "isn't there a thing of Moliere's, 'LEMALADE IMAGINAIRE'? I expect he's that."
Eight or nine lists came out, and were duly pencilled with the suggestion.
"And where are the Klammersteins?" asked Lady Blonze; "they're usually so punctual.""Another character pose, perhaps," said Bertie van Tahn; " 'the Lost Ten Tribes.' ""But there are only three of them. Besides, they'll want their lunch. Hasn't anyone seen anything of them?""Didn't you take them out in your car?" asked Blanche Boveal, addressing herself to Cyril Skatterly.
"Yes, took them out to Slogberry Moor immediately after breakfast. Miss Durmot came too.""I saw you and Vera come back," said Lady Blonze, "but I didn't see the Klammersteins. Did you put them down in the village?""No," said Skatterly shortly.
"But where are they? Where did you leave them?""We left them on Slogberry Moor," said Vera calmly.
"On Slogberry Moor? Why, it's more than thirty miles away! How are they going to get back?""We didn't stop to consider that," said Skatterly;"we asked them to get out for a moment, on the pretence that the car had stuck, and then we dashed off full speed and left them there.""But how dare you do such a thing? It's most inhuman! Why, it's been snowing for the last hour.""I expect there'll be a cottage or farmhouse somewhere if they walk a mile or two.""But why on earth have you done it?"
The question came in a chorus of indignant bewilderment.
"THAT would be telling what our characters are meant to be," said Vera.
"Didn't I warn you?" said Sir Nicholas tragically to his wife.
"It's something to do with Spanish history; we don't mind giving you that clue," said Skatterly, helping himself cheerfully to salad, and then Bertie van Tahn broke forth into peals of joyous laughter.
"I've got it! Ferdinand and Isabella deporting the Jews! Oh, lovely! Those two have certainly won the prize; we shan't get anything to beat that for thoroughness."Lady Blonze's Christmas party was talked about and written about to an extent that she had not anticipated in her most ambitious moments. The letters from Waldo's mother would alone have made it memorable.
