Black August

'Can I help you in any way, milord?' he asked quietly.

'Yes er thanks.' Kenyon swallowed the drink and seized gratefully of this offer of assistance. 'Get Lady Veronica's car and load it up; directly she returns bring her and Lucy down to 272 Gloucester Road; understand?'

'Very good, milord.'

'Right, and now come and give me a hand with the picnic basket and my own things. I'm going on ahead but I'll wait there until you turn up.'

Directly his car was loaded he headed once more for South Kensington. Hyde Park Corner was still alive with people eddying slowly backwards and forwards in the evening light. Agitators were haranguing large sections of the crowd, but the police seemed to be in sufficient force to prevent any hostile demonstration. It took him twenty minutes to get through the press, but once he reached the top of Sloane Street he was able to slip away.

A square grey motor truck stood outside 272, stacked with boxes, barrels, and every variety of tinned goods; Rudd was on top of it arranging a tarpaulin to cover the load.

'She ain't got back yet, sir,' he called cheerily to Kenyon, 'but don't you worry, she won't be long.'

'Thank the Lord for that!' As Kenyon got out of his car he glanced through the grocer's window. The interior of the shop looked as though a hurricane had swept through it; empty boxes, paper, and cardboard cartons littered the floor, while the shelves were practically denuded of their stock. Then he noticed that the name on the lorry had been blacked out, and just below the driver's seat a small W.D. with a short broad arrow, the mark of the War Department, stood out in fresh white paint.

'Hullo!' he exclaimed, 'have they commandeered your stock?'

'Yes, commandeered; that's what it's bin, sir!' With quick efficient fingers Rudd jerked tight the last knot; 'I should wait upstairs if I was you.'

Kenyon took the hint and left him. In the sitting room he found the Pomfret’s peering excitedly out of the window at the doings of Mr. Rudd below.

T do think we should do something about it, Hildebrand,' the woman said sharply.

'My love, what can we do?' the lanky man protested.

'Can't you go for the police?'

'Good evening,' said Kenyon; 'what's the trouble?'

Mrs. Pomfret turned on him and waved her small fat hand appealingly.

'They've taken all poor Mr. Gibbon's groceries; really, they ought to be stopped.'

'Why?' asked Kenyon. 'Surely the Government has the right to commandeer things in times of emergency like this?'

'But it's not the Government; I'm sure it's not! Mr. Gibbon knows nothing about it, and the very moment he'd gone home they started to loot his shop. I wouldn't be surprised if that van they've got isn't stolen too!'

'Really? But who are “they”. Are there others in it besides Rudd?' inquired Kenyon with astonishment.

'Oh, its that Mr. Sallust, of course. Rudd only does what he tells him treats him like a kind of god though why I cannot think; a cynical, heartless man!'

'My love, you are prejudiced on my account,' Pomfret said mildly.

'Well, he could have got you some marvellous notices in his paper if he had wished, but he was positively rude when I suggested it!'

'Not rude, my dear; he only said that fine work was always bound to make its mark, and that overworked reviewers were apt to become irritated if pestered for complimentary notices.'

'He did not mean that kindly, Hildebrand; it was a sneer. But can we do nothing to prevent him stealing all those things?' She looked hopefully at Kenyon.

Sorry,' he said. 'I'm only waiting for Miss Croome, and directly I've seen her I must get away.'

There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. Griselda Girlie poked her head round the door and then came in. Ann was behind her.

'My dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret as Ann pulled off her hat, 'where have you been? You look half dead!'

'I am,' she said wearily. 'I must have walked twelve miles and all for nothing; I've had a filthy day. The book's not out, I suppose?'

'No; isn't it infuriating? Hildebrand went down to his publishers this morning but they were shut.'

'What rotten luck for you.' Ann sensed the tragedy of the thing for this struggling couple by the hunted look in the man's eyes, but the next moment she had caught sight of Kenyon standing half hidden behind Griselda and the open door.

'Good evening, Ann,' he said. 'Can I talk to you for a moment I mean alone?'

'No! How dare you come here after last night?'

'I'm sorry.' Kenyon was horribly embarrassed by the presence of the Pomfret’s and Griselda. 'Look here,' he hesitated, 'I only came to find out what you are going to do?'

'That does not concern you in the least!' The other three moved over to the window.

'Why, here's that awful woman again!' exclaimed Mrs. Pomfret.

'What woman?' asked Griselda.

'She came here yesterday; the most vulgar, ill bred person I have ever…' Mrs. Pomfret broke off suddenly, remembering that Ann was in the room.

Kenyon had overheard her. Mrs. Pomfret might well apply such a description to Veronica. A swift glance out of the other window confirmed his guess. There she was, seated in her car with Lucy beside her, and Carter, bored but dignified, clasping the most unsuitable of headgear, a bowler hat, upon the dicky. She saw him and waved a greeting as he turned back to Ann.

'Look here,' he repeated, 'there are no trains running from Liverpool Street you know that and you must get out of London somehow. How do you propose to set about it?'

She stared at him angrily. 'I don't. I shall probably stay here lots of people will have to!'

'You're mad! and I won't have it.' All Kenyon's pent up anxiety from his long day of worry was coming out with a rush.

'You!' she snapped. 'You won't have it?'

'No. Since you are incapable of looking after yourself I'm going to do it for you! I refuse to leave you here.'

She laughed then shook her head. 'I'm afraid you'll have to this isn't Grosvenor Square and you can't take me by force!'

'Can't I? I can and I will!'

Ann drew quickly away from him, a little scared by the hard light in his blue eyes. 'Go away!' she said. 'Go away!'

'No,' he gripped her by the arm, 'not without you don't be a fool, Ann. It's madness to stay here. If you had other plans I wouldn't interfere, but you haven't so you've got to come with me.'

'I won't Oh, Mr. Pomfret Griselda stop him!' Ann cried as he pushed her towards the door.

'May I ask… Pomfret stepped forward while the two women beside him stood with wide, excited eyes.

Kenyon dropped Ann's arm and advanced on the novelist with a threatening glare. 'You go to hell! Keep out of this, do you hear? unless you want to get hurt.'

Pomfret backed hurriedly away, but Ann had seized the opportunity to rash out of the room, and the door crashed to with a resounding bang. Kenyon tore it open and dashed after her across the landing. She had slipped through the further door, but he threw his shoulder against it before she had time to lock it on the other side, and she was sent flying to the floor while he came sprawling on top of her.

'Now!' he panted, seizing her again, 'we've had enough of this.'

'And so have I,' cried an angry voice. It was Gregory Sallust, a bricklayer's trowel in one hand a large brick in the other.

Kenyon stumbled to his feet and looked round with amazement. Sallust's room presented an extraordinary spectacle. The bed had been moved out of a large alcove, and in its place were stacked hundreds of books, boxes, bundles; apparently all the worldly possessions which Gregory Sallust could not carry with him, but held dear. He was busy bricking them up and a three foot wall already separated the alcove from the rest of the room. Rudd stood nearby mixing mortar on a board, and the two big shiny pistols which Kenyon had seen earlier in the day reposed behind him on the abandoned bed.