“What’s that?” said Major Flint.
They stared at each other for a moment and then simultaneously burst into peals of laughter. The train rumbled slowly into the station, but neither took the least notice of it, and only shook their heads and broke out again when the station-master urged them to take their seats. The only thing that had power to restore Captain Puffin to gravity was the difficulty of getting the money for his ticket refunded, while the departure of the train with his portmanteau in it did the same for the Major.
* * * *
The events of that night and morning, as may easily be imagined, soon supplied Tilling with one of the most remarkable conundrums that had ever been forced upon its notice. Puffin’s housemaid, during his absence at the station, found and read not only the notice intended for her eyes, but the challenge which he had left on the chimney-piece. She conceived it to be her duty to take it down to Mrs. Gashly, his cook, and while they were putting the bloodiest construction on these inscriptions, their conference was interrupted by the return of Captain Puffin in the highest spirits, who, after a vain search for the challenge, was quite content, as its purport was no longer fraught with danger and death, to suppose that he had torn it up. Mrs. Gashly, therefore, after preparing breakfast at this unusually early hour, went across to the back door of the Major’s house, with the challenge in her hand, to borrow a nutmeg grater, and gleaned the information that Mrs. Dominic’s employer (for master he could not be called) had gone off in a great hurry to the station early that morning with a Gladstone bag and a portmanteau, the latter of which had been seen no more, though the Major had returned. So Mrs. Gashly produced the challenge, and having watched Miss Mapp off to the High Street at half-past ten, Dominic and Gashly went together to her house, to see if Withers could supply anything of importance, or, if not, a nutmeg grater. They were forced to be content with the grater, but pored over the challenge with Withers, and she having an errand to Diva’s house, told Janet, who without further ceremony bounded upstairs to tell her mistress. Hardly had Diva heard, than she plunged into the High Street, and, with suitable additions, told Miss Mapp, Evie, Irene and the Padre under promise in each case, of the strictest secrecy. Ten minutes later Irene had asked the defenceless Mr. Hopkins, who was being Adam again, what he knew about it, and Evie, with her mouse-like gait that looked so rapid and was so deliberate, had the mortification of seeing Miss Mapp outdistance her and be admitted into the Poppits’ house, just as she came in view of the front-door. She rightly conjectured that, after the affair of the store-cupboard in the garden-room, there could be nothing of lesser importance than“the duel” which could take that lady through those abhorred portals. Finally, at ten minutes past eleven, Major Flint and Captain Puffin were seen by one or two fortunate people (the morning having cleared up) walking together to the tram, and, without exception, everybody knew that they were on their way to fight their duel in some remote hollow of the sand-dunes.
Miss Mapp had gone straight home from her visit to the Poppits just about eleven, and stationed herself in the window where she could keep an eye on the houses of the duellists. In her anxiety to outstrip Evie and be the first to tell the Poppits, she had not waited to hear that they had both come back and knew only of the challenge and that they had gone to the station. She had already formed a glorious idea of her own as to what the history of the duel (past or future) was, and intoxicated with emotion had retired from the wordy fray to think about it, and, as already mentioned, to keep an eye on the two houses just below. Then there appeared in sight the Padre, walking swiftly up the hill, and she had barely time under cover of the curtain to regain the table where her sweet chrysanthemums were pining for water when Withers announced him. He wore a furrowed brow and quite forgot to speak either Scotch or Elizabethan English. A few rapid words made it clear that they both had heard the main outlines.
“A terrible situation,” said the Padre. “Duelling is direct contravention of all Christian principles, and, I believe, of the civil law. The discharge of a pistol, in unskilful hands, may lead to deplorable results. And Major Flint, so one has heard, is an experienced duellist… That, of course, makes it even more dangerous.”
It was at this identical moment that Major Flint came out of his house and qui-hied cheerily to Puffin. Miss Mapp and the Padre, deep in these bloody possibilities, neither saw nor heard them. They passed together down the road and into the High Street, unconscious that their very look and action was being more commented on than the Epistle to the Hebrews. Inside the garden-room Miss Mapp sighed, and bent her eyes on her chrysanthemums.
“Quite terrible!” she said. “And in our peaceful, tranquil Tilling!”
“Perhaps the duel has already taken place, and—and they’ve missed,” said the Padre. “They were both seen to return to their houses early this morning.”
“By whom?” asked Miss Mapp jealously. She had not heard that.
“By Hopkins,” said he. “Hopkins saw them both return.”
“I shouldn’t trust that man too much,” said Miss Mapp.“Hopkins may not be telling the truth. I have no great opinion of his moral standard.”
“Why is that?”
This was no time to discuss the nudity of Hopkins and Miss Mapp put the question aside.
“That does not matter now, dear Padre,” she said. “I only wish I thought the duel had taken place without accident. But Major Benjy’s—I mean Major Flint’s—portmanteau has not come back to his house. Of that I’m sure. What if they have sent it away to some place where they are unknown, full of pistols and things?”
“Possible—terribly possible,” said the Padre. “I wish I could see my duty clear. I should not hesitate to—well, to do the best I could to induce them to abandon this murderous project. And what do you imagine was the root of the quarrel?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said Miss Mapp. She bent her head over the chrysanthemums.
“Your distracting sex,” said he with a moment’s gallantry, “is usually the cause of quarrel. I’ve noticed that they both seemed to admire Miss Irene very much.”
Miss Mapp raised her head and spoke with great animation.
“Dear, quaint Irene, I’m sure, has nothing whatever to do with it,” she said with perfect truth. “Nothing whatever!”
There was no mistaking the sincerity of this, and the Padre, Tillingite to the marrow, instantly concluded that Miss Mapp knew what (or who) was the cause of all this unique disturbance. And as she bent her head again over the chrysanthemums, and quite distinctly grew brick-red in the face, he felt that delicacy prevented his inquiring any further.
“What are you going to do, dear Padre?” she asked in a low voice, choking with emotion. “Whatever you decide will be wise and Christian. Oh, these violent men! Such babies, too!”
The Padre was bursting with curiosity, but since his delicacy forbade him to ask any of the questions which effervesced like sherbet round his tongue, he propounded another plan.
“I think my duty is to go straight to the Major,” he said,“who seems to be the principal in the affair, and tell him that I know all—and guess the rest,” he added.
“Nothing that I have said,” declared Miss Mapp in great confusion, “must have anything to do with your guesses. Promise me that, Padre.”
This intimate and fruitful conversation was interrupted by the sound of two pairs of steps just outside, and before Withers had had time to say“Mrs. Plaistow,” Diva burst in.
“They have both taken the 11.20 tram,” she said, and sank into the nearest chair.
“Together?” asked Miss Mapp, feeling a sudden chill of disappointment at the thought of a duel with pistols trailing off into one with golf clubs.
“Yes, but that’s a blind,” panted Diva. “They were talking and laughing together. Sheer blind! Duel among the