Read Online Gale Warning by Dornford Yates - Free Book Online Page A

just cause, I should lose what credit I had with that very exacting girl. The loss would not be great, because, as a matter of fact, I had none to lose; but at least I had a clean sheet, and I did not want an entry upon the opposite side.
    So sixteen days went by: and May came in in splendour, and the green of the churchyard trees was a sight for sore eyes.
    It was on a Tuesday evening, the tenth of May, that I entered the club, as usual, at twenty-five minutes past six. As usual, I washed my hands and made my way to the elegant smoking-room: as usual, I ordered a drink and, as usual, I read the papers from end to end. But either because I was restless, or else because the papers had little to tell, I found myself at seven with nothing on earth to do. I had no letters to write – and if I had, I should not have cared to write them from that address. I had no book to read, for though there were some shelves in the morning room, they were laden with dry-as-dust volumes whose names were enough to frighten a pedant away; but since they were bound in calf, they made a brave show, and I fancy they had been purchased to serve as furniture.
    For a while I struggled with a crossword – of course in vain: and then I remembered the volumes of Punch I had marked when the page who had shown me the house had led me into the silent billiard-room.
    At once I knew I was saved – that night and for weeks to come, for there had been a set at Peerless and always, after hunting, it had been my great delight to stroll down its gallery of humour and study the spirit and manners of other days.
    As thankful as any prisoner released from jail, I mounted the lovely staircase two steps at a time, to pause at the billiard-room door and honour the time-honoured order Wait for the Stroke . More as a matter of form than anything else, I peered through the little peephole which gave me a chance to obey, for I did not suppose that the table would be in use. But there I was wrong, for a game was indeed in progress and one of the players was, if I may borrow the phrase, addressing his ball.
    I saw him well, for while the room was in shadow, his kindly face was flood-lit by the table’s lamps: in fact I could see him much better than when I had seen him last.
    So once more, though he never knew it, my eyes were fixed on Barabbas’ chargé d’affaires .
    The encounter was so unexpected that I stood for a moment or two as though turned into stone, but when I perceived how narrow had been my escape, my knees felt weak and the palms of my hands grew wet.
    Had his opponent been playing and he standing back, I should have walked into the room when the stroke had been made. He would have looked round, of course, and our eyes would have met…and that, I believe, would have been the end of this tale, for the start which I must have given would have made a simpleton stare.
    Though I had been spared this disaster, its bare contemplation embarrassed any shaken wits, and though I tried my best to think what to do, my brain could suggest no action, but only precipitate flight. And this I was sure was wrong. Though I could not see how to play it, I had been dealt by Fortune a valuable hand. Mansel or Chandos would have made a hatful of tricks. But I could think of nothing, but of throwing the cards away. And the game of billiards was very nearly over, for ‘spot’ was eighty-seven and ‘plain’ was ninety–two…
    Then a cough at my shoulder roused me, and there was a servant standing, with a tray in his hand.
    “I’m sorry,” I said somehow, and stood away from the glass.
    “It’s quite all right, sir, thank you.”
    He peered through the peephole himself, before going into the room.
    It was his natural action that cleared my brain.
    “What’s the name of that member?” I said. “The one with the thick, grey hair.”
    The servant looked round.
    “That’s the Reverend Plato, sir.”
    “No,” said I. “The one in his shirt-sleeves, I