H.C. McNeile

Word of Honour

Warsaw 2018

Contents

I. WORD OF HONOUR

II. THE MESSAGE

III. TWO PHOTOGRAPHS

IV. A MATTER OF VOICE

V. A NATIVE SUPERSTITION

VI. BLACKMAIL

VII. MRS. PETER SKEFFINGTON’S REVENGE

VIII. MARIE

IX. THE KING OF HEARTS

X. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL

XI. THE HAUNTING OF JACK BURNHAM

XII. THE PROFESSOR’S CHRISTMAS PARTY

I. WORD OF HONOUR

§ I

JIMMY STAUNTON’s soldier servant smiled tolerantly behind a large hand as he produced the fourth evening collar for his master’s inspection. Three had already been hurled into a corner, with oaths and curses, as unfit for a chimney-sweep to wear, and he waited patiently for the verdict on the last.

“What do they do with ’em, Wilton?” cried his master despairingly. “The blamed thing looks like a pleated skirt.”

His servant preserved a discreet silence as Staunton put it on; then he handed him a black tie. Few things are hidden from a man’s personal batman, and Wilton realised the solemnity of the occasion.

So much so, in fact, that when Jimmy, complete with overcoat and hat, was ready to leave his room, he permitted himself with a perfectly inscrutable face to say: “Good luck, sir.”

For a moment his master stared him; then a slow grin spread over his face.

“Damn your eyes, Wilton. Go to blazes.”

“Very good, sir. Tea the same time to-morrow morning, sir?”

But the door had already slammed behind the departing Jimmy. Should he, or should he not? That was the question. Point for: he loved her, and he felt tolerably sure that she rather more than liked him. Points against: he had exactly one hundred and fifty pounds a year beside his pay, and she couldn’t expect any more than that, even if she got as much, from her father. For Tiny Tim–the nickname by which the said father was known wherever soldiers were gathered together–was notoriously not blessed with an overflow of this world’s goods.

Tiny Tim–or, to be more formal, Lieut.-Col. John Mayhew, C.M.G., D.S.O. and bar, etc.–was Jimmy’s commanding officer. And Jimmy, in company with every other officer and man of the 1st battalion of the King’s Royal Loamshires, would have cheerfully lain down and let the Colonel walk over them, if it would have afforded him any pleasure. And the trifling fact that the men felt the same about Jimmy is beside the point. All that occupied the mind of that worthy as he strode towards the C.O.’s quarters was should he, or should he not? He knew there was no one else dining–Tiny Tim had told him so. He also knew that his host had some work to do after dinner which would take him about an hour. And as he stood on the door-step waiting for the servant to answer his ring, he admitted to himself the futility of his mental argument. If he had an hour alone with Peggy there wasn’t a hope.

She was alone when he went into the drawing-room, and his heart gave a quick bound forward as he saw her. What an utterly adorable girl she was; no wonder she was the apple of her father’s eye. Especially since her mother had died...

“Come back from leave at last, Peggy,” he said as he took her hand. “I’m thinking you’ve overstayed it badly.”

“Three months, Jimmy,” she answered. “And I’m off again the day after to-morrow.”

In spite of himself his face fell.

“The dickens you are!” he said. “We’ll have to get the C.O. to confine you to barracks.”

And then Tiny Tim came in, and they went in to dinner. It was an informal meal, such as the Colonel generally gave when he asked any of his unmarried officers in, and the conversation was of that intimate type–half shop, half sport, and wholly regiment–which seemed to come natural when Tiny Tim was present. Boring to an outsider perhaps, but there were no outsiders there. And it was when the fish was being cleared away that it struck Jimmy that the girl was unusually silent. At first he thought it must be his imagination, until he saw her father glance at her once or twice with a worried look in his eyes.

The port was put on the table, and after it had been round once Tiny Tim turned to her with a smile.

“Look here, Kitten,” he said, “you run along, will you? I want to talk to Staunton for a few minutes. Very confidential shop.”

Slightly surprised, Jimmy opened the door for her. What on earth could the C.O. want to say confidentially to him at such a time?

And when he’d sat down again and said, “Yes, sir,” politely, he got still more surprised. For Tiny Tim, who was usually the most direct of human beings, seemed to have considerable difficulty in beginning.

“What do you think of Peggy?” he blurted out suddenly. “Do you think she’s happy?”

Jimmy Staunton stared at him open-eyed.

“Good Lord, sir!” he stammered. “I–er–hope so. She seemed a bit silent at dinner.”

In silence Tiny Tim pushed the port towards him.

“Jimmy–I’m worried,” he said. “She’s all I’ve got, and–she’s changed. She’s been away, as you know–staying most of the time with a cousin of mine, Lady Badderley. I wanted her to have a good time and all that. I went and stopped there for a couple of weekends and, I dunno’, but it struck me there was a pretty putrid crowd in the house. I’m not particularly old-fashioned: I can stomach all sorts and conditions of men–and women; but I’m not Peggy. I don’t want her to get unsettled.”

He broke off, and Jimmy sat silent, hardly knowing what he was expected to say.

“How’s the work getting on for the Staff College?” said the Colonel suddenly.

“Pretty well, sir. I’m sweating like blazes.”

“For your ears alone, Jimmy,” said Tiny Tim: “I gather I’m going to get a brigade.”

“I should damned well hope so,” cried Jimmy.

“Brigade-Major is not a bad stepping-stone,” remarked Tiny Tim thoughtfully, and Jimmy grew red in the face. At last, incredible though it was, he began to see what his host was driving at.

“Don’t forget I married on practically nothing beside my pay,” went on Tiny Tim.

“Good Lord, sir!” stammered Jimmy. “You mean that I–why–Great Scott! I just worship the ground she walks on.”

Tiny Tim smiled.

“You surprise me, Jimmy. Er–why not tell her so?”

“But do you think–I mean–is there a chance for me?”

“Damnation!” exploded the Colonel. “You don’t expect me to find out for you, do you?”

He rose and put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.

“I want her to be happy, old man,” he said gruffly. “They’re a rotten lot–some of those men she’s been meeting–and she’s young. Good luck. I can give her a little.”

Without another word he walked out of the room, leaving Jimmy Staunton staring after him open-mouthed. Brigade-Major–and then if Tiny Tim got a Division, which he would–G.S.O. 2, or perhaps even 1... He could afford it... With care to start with, it could be done.

Almost in a dream he found himself in the drawing-room. She was sitting smoking a cigarette as he came in, with her back towards him. And for a moment or two he stood by the door drinking her in–the proud little shingled head, the adorable shoulders, the whole wonderful attraction of her. Then, as he closed the door, she turned and looked at him.

“Hallo, Jimmy!” she said. “Finished your shop?”

“Yes,” he answered. “The destiny of the British Army has been settled. Why are you going away so soon, Peggy?”

He was standing beside her, while she stared at the fire.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Aunt Vera asked me to come back.”

“Find it dull here?”

“Dull!” Her voice shook a little. “I’d give everything I possess to stop here, Jimmy.”

“But what’s to prevent you, my dear?” It slipped out unconsciously, that “my dear.” “The regiment don’t think they’re being treated at all well.”

She gave a little shiver, but didn’t speak.

“Peggy, is anything the matter?” He tried to keep his voice even; but it wasn’t a conspicuous success. “I mean–if so, it might help you to cough it up, old thing. Won’t go beyond me, don’t you know.”

He bent down, and saw that her eyes were swimming with tears.

“My dear,” he muttered hoarsely. “Tell me.”

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