Adventures of Bindle

"Your Leddyship, on ma honour, I sweear – !"

"Don't, Andy, don't!" said the girl, striving to put her hand over his mouth. "Don't! God may strike you dead. He did it once, didn't He? Oh! I've learnt the Bible," she added in a maudlin tone. "I can sing hymns, I can." She began to croon something in a wheezy voice.

Mr. MacFie made a desperate effort to free himself from her clutches, but succeeded only in bringing her to her knees.

"Look at 'im! Look at 'im!" shrieked the girl, "knocking me about, what he swore to love, honour and obey. Oh, you devil, Andy! How you used to behave, and now – and now – "

"I swear it's all a damned lee! It's ma enemy – ma enemy. Woman, I know thee not! Thou art the scarlet woman of Babylon! Get thee from me, I curse thee!" Mr. MacFie's Gaelic blood was up.

"Go it, sir!" said Bindle. "Go it!"

"Ye have come as the ravening wolf upon the sheep-fold at night to destroy the lamb." Mr. MacFie waved his disengaged arm.

"You bein' the lamb, sir, go it!" said Bindle.

"I'll hae the law on ye, woman, I'll hae the law on ye! Ye impostor! Ye harlot!! Ye daughter of Belial!!!" He flung his arm about, and his eyes rolled with almost maniacal fury. "Ma God! ma God! Why persecuteth Thou me?" he cried, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

Then with a sudden drop to earthly things he appealed to Lady Knob-Kerrick.

"Your Leddyship, your Leddyship, do not believe this woman. She lies! She would ruin me!! I will have her arrested!!! Fetch the police!!!! I demand the police!!!!!"

Lady Knob-Kerrick turned towards the door at the entrance of which stood her footman.

"John, blow your police-whistle," she ordered, practical in all things.

John disappeared. A moment later the raucous sound of a police-whistle was heard in continuous blast.

"That's right!" shouted the woman, "that's right! Blow your police-whistle! Blow your pinkish brains out!" Then with a sudden change she turned to Mr. MacFie. "Oh, Andy, Andy! You never was the same man after you 'ad that drink in you down in the country at the temperance fête. Don't you remember how you laughed with me about that Old Bird being washed out of her carriage?"

"It's a lee! It's a lee! A damnable lee!" shrieked Mr. MacFie.

Mr. MacFie was interrupted in his protestations by a sudden rush of feet, and the hall began to fill with a wild-eyed, dishevelled crowd. Mothers carrying their babies, or pulling along little children. Everyone inviting everyone else to come in. One woman was in hysterics. Lady Knob-Kerrick stared at them in wonder.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded of no one in particular.

"It's a raid, mum, a raid; it's a raid," sobbed a woman, leading two little children with the hand and holding a baby in her disengaged arm.

Lady Knob-Kerrick paled. "A raid!" she faltered.

"Yes, mum, can't you 'ear the police-whistles?"

"Well, I'm damned!" broke in Bindle, slapping his leg in ecstasy; then a moment after, seeing the terror on the women's faces, he cried out:

"It's all right, there ain't no raid. Don't be frightened. It's ole Calves with that bloomin' police-whistle."

"Tell that fool to stop," cried Lady Knob-Kerrick. A special constable pushed his way through the crowd.

"What is all this about, please?" he demanded.

"There's a raid, sir," cried several voices.

"I give this woman in charge," cried Mr. MacFie, dramatically pointing at her who claimed to be his wife.

With alacrity the special pulled his note-book out of his pocket.

"The charge, sir?" he enquired.

"She says she's ma wife."

The special looked up from his note-book. "That is not an indictable offence, sir, I'm afraid."

"But she's na ma wife," protested Mr. MacFie.

Another rush of people seeking shelter swept the constable on one side, and when he once more strove to take up the thread, the woman had disappeared.

The results of John's vigour with the police-whistle were far-reaching. Omnibuses had drawn up to the kerb and had been promptly deserted by passengers and crew. The trains on the District Railway were plunged in darkness and the authorities at Putney Bridge Station and East Putney telephoned through that there was a big air-raid. Although nothing had been heard at head-quarters, it was deemed advisable to take precautions. Special constables, nurses and ambulances were called out, anti-aircraft stations warned, and tens of thousands of people sent scuttling home.

Bindle was one of the first to leave the School-room, and he made his way over to Dick Little's flat at Chelsea.

"Ah!" cried Dick Little as he opened the door, "Nancy's back. This way," he added, walking towards his bedroom.

In front of the dressing-table stood Private "Nancy" Dane, the far-famed Pierrette of the Passchendaele Pierrots. He was in the act of removing from his closely-cropped head a dark wig to which was attached a black toque with an oval of vivid-coloured embroidery.

"Well, that's that!" he remarked as he laid it on the table. "Hullo, Bindle!" he cried. "All Clear?"

"All Clear!" replied Bindle as he seated himself upon a chair and proceeded to light the big cigar that Dick Little handed him. Dick Little threw himself upon the bed.

"You done it fine," remarked Bindle approvingly, as he watched Dane slowly transform himself into a private of the line. "Pore ole Mac," he added, "'e got the wind up proper."

"Good show, what?" queried Dick Little as he lazily pulled at his pipe, tired after a long day's work in the hospital.

"Seemed a bit cruel to me," said Dane as he struggled out of a pair of hefty-looking corsets.

"Cruel!" cried Bindle indignantly, as he sat up straight in his chair. "Cruel! with 'im a-tryin' to take the gal away from one of the boys wot's fightin' at the front. Cruel! It wouldn't be cruel, Mr. Nancy, if 'e was cut up an' salted an' given to the 'Uns as a meat ration;" and with this ferocious pronouncement Bindle sank back again in his chair and puffed away at his cigar.

"Sorry!" said Dane, laboriously pulling off a stocking.

"Right-o!" said Bindle cheerfully. Then after a pause he added, "I got to thank Ole 'Amlet for that little idea, and you, sir, for findin' Mr. Nancy. Did it wonderful well, 'e did; still," remarked Bindle meditatively, "I wish they 'adn't blown that police-whistle. Them pore women an' kids was that scared, made me feel I didn't ought to 'ave done it; but then, 'ow was I to know that the Ole Bird was goin' to 'anky-panky like that with Calves. Took 'er name they did, that's somethink. Any'ow, ole Mac won't go 'angin' round Millikins again for many a long day. If 'e does I'll punch 'is bloomin' 'ead."

The next day Lady Knob-Kerrick and John were summoned for causing to be blown to the public confusion a police-whistle, and although the summonses were dismissed the magistrate said some very caustic things about the insensate folly of excitable women. He furthermore made it clear that if anybody blew a police-whistle in the south-western district because somebody else's wife had come back unexpectedly, he would without hesitation pass a sentence that would discourage any repetition of so unscrupulous and unpardonable an act.

Mr. MacFie cleared his character to some extent by a sermon on the following Sunday upon the ninth commandment, and by inserting an advertisement in the principal papers offering £20 to anyone who would give information as to the identity of the woman who on the night of the 28th had created a disturbance in the Alton Road School Room.

CHAPTER IX

THE LETTING OF NUMBER SIX

I