Paul saw the young ladies to their ship, and all three kissed him good‑bye. As he walked back along the quay he met Potts.
'Just arrived by the morning train, he said. Paul felt strongly inclined to tell him his opinion of the League of Nations, but remembering Potts' prolixity in argument and the urgency of his own departure, he decided to leave his criticisms for another time. He stopped long enough in Marseilles to cable to Margot, 'Everything arranged satisfactorily. Returning this afternoon. All my love, and then left for Paris by air, feeling that at last he had done something to help.
At ten o'clock on his wedding morning Paul returned to the Ritz. It was raining hard, and he felt tired, unshaven and generally woebegone. A number of newspaper reporters were waiting for him outside his suite, but he told them that he could see no one. Inside he found Peter Beste‑Chetwynde, incredibly smart in his first morning‑coat.
'They've let me come up from Llanabba for the day, he said. 'To tell you the truth, I'm rather pleased with myself in these clothes. I bought you a buttonhole in case you'd forgotten. I say, Paul, you're looking tired.
'I am, rather. Turn on the bath for me like an angel.
When he had had his bath and shaved he felt better. Peter had ordered a bottle of champagne and was a little tipsy. He walked round the room, glass in hand, talking gaily, and every now and then pausing to look at himself in the mirror. 'Pretty smart, he said, 'particularly the tie; don't you think so, Paul? I think I shall go back to the school like this. That would make them see what a superior person I am. I hope you notice that I gave you the grander buttonhole? I can't tell you what Llanabba is like this term, Paul. Do try and persuade Mamma to take me away. Clutterbuck has left, and Tangent is dead, and the three new masters are quite awful. One is like your friend Potts, only he stutters, and Brolly says he's got a glass eye. He's called Mr Makepeace. Then there's another one with red hair who keeps beating everyone all the time, and the other's rather sweet, really, only he has fits. I don't think the Doctor cares for any of them much. Flossie's been looking rather discouraged all the time. I wonder if Mamma could get her a job in South America? I'm glad you're wearing a waistcoat like that. I nearly did, but I thought perhaps I was a bit young. What do you think? We had a reporter down at the school the other day wanting to know particulars about you. Brolly told a splendid story about how you used to go out swimming in the evenings and swim for hours and hours in the dark composing elegiac verses, and then he spoilt it by saying you had webbed feet and a prehensile tail, which made the chap think he was having his leg pulled. I say, am I terribly in the way?
As Paul dressed his feelings of well‑being began to return. He could not help feeling that he too looked rather smart. Presently Alastair Digby‑Vane‑Trumpington came in, and drank some champagne.
'This wedding of ours is about the most advertised thing that's happened for a generation, he said. 'D'you know, the Sunday Mail has given me fifty pounds to put my name to an article describing my sensations as best man. I'm afraid every one will know it's not me, though; it's too jolly well written. I've had a marvellous letter from Aunt Greta about it, too. Have you seen the presents? The Argentine Chargé d'Affaires has given you the works of Longfellow bound in padded green leather, and the Master of Scone has sent those pewter plates he used to have in his hall.
Paul fastened the gardenia in his buttonhole, and they went down to luncheon. There were several people in the restaurant obviously dressed for a wedding, and it gave Paul some satisfaction to notice that he was the centre of interest of the whole room. The maître d'hôtel offered his graceful good wishes as he led them to their table. Peter, earlier in the morning, had ordered the luncheon.
'I doubt if we shall have time to eat it all, he said, 'but fortunately the best things all come at the beginning.
As he was peeling his second gull's egg, Paul was called away to the telephone.
'Darling, said Margot's voice, 'how are you? I've been so anxious all the time you were away. I had an awful feeling something was going to stop you coming back. Are you all right, dearest? Yes, I'm terribly well. I'm at home having luncheon in my bedroom and feeling, my dear, I can't tell you how virginal, really and truly completely débutante. I hope you'll like my frock. It's Boulanger, darling, do you mind? Good‑bye, my sweet. Don't let Peter get too drunk, will you?
Paul went back to the dining‑room.
'I've eaten your eggs, said Peter. 'I just couldn't help it.
By two o'clock they had finished their luncheon. Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde's second‑best Hispano Suiza was waiting in Arlington Street.
'You must just have one more drink with me before we go, said the best man; 'there's heaps of time.
'I think perhaps it would be a mistake if I did, said Peter.
Paul and his best man refilled their glasses with brandy.
'It is a funny thing, said Alastair Digby‑VaneTrumpington. 'No one could have guessed that when I had the Boller blind in my rooms it was going to end like this.
Paul turned the liqueur round in his glass, inhaled its rich bouquet for a second, and then held it before him.
'To Fortune, he said, 'a much‑rnaligned lady!
'Which of you gentlemen is Mr Paul Pennyfeather?
Paul put down his glass and turned to find an elderly rnan of military appearance standing beside him.
'I am, he said. 'But I'm afraid that, if you're from the Press, I really haven't time…
'I'm Inspector Bruce, of Scotland Yard, said the stranger. 'Will you be so good as to speak to me for a minute outside?
'Really, officer, said Paul, 'I'm in a great hurry. I suppose it's about the men to guard the presents. You should have come to me earlier.
'It's not about presents, and I couldn't have come earlier. The warrant for your arrest has only this minute been issued.
'Look here, said Alastair Digby‑Vane‑Trumpington, 'don't be an ass. You've got the wrong man. They'll laugh at you like blazes over this at Scotland Yard. This is the Mr Pennyfeather who's being married to‑day.
'I don't know anything about that, said Inspector Bruce. 'All I know is, there's a warrant out for his arrest, and that anything he says may be used as evidence against him. And as for you, young man, I shouldn't attempt to obstruct an officer of the law, not if I was you.
'It's all some ghastly mistake, said Paul. 'I suppose I must go with this man. Try and get on to Margot and explain to her.
Sir Alastair's amiable pink face gaped blank astonishment. 'Good God, he said, 'how damned funny! At least it would be at any other time. But Peter, deadly white, had left the restaurant.
PART THREE
CHAPTER I Stone Walls do not a Prison Make
Paul's trial, which took place some weeks later at the Old Bailey, was a bitter disappointment to the public, the news editors, and the jury and counsel concerned. The arrest at the Ritz, the announcement at St Margaret's that the wedding was postponed, Margot's flight to Corfu, the refusal of bail, the meals sent in to Paul on covered dishes from Boulestin's, had been 'front‑page stories' every day. After all this, Paul's conviction and sentence were a lame conclusion. At first he pleaded guilty on all charges, despite the entreaties of his counsel, but eventually he was galvanized into some show of defence by the warning of the presiding judge that the law allowed punishment with the cat‑o'‑nine tails for offences of this sort. Even these things were very flat. Potts as chief witness for the prosecution was unshakeable and was later warmly commended by the court; no evidence, except of previous good conduct, was offered by the defence; Margot Beste‑Chetwynde's name was not mentioned, though the judge in passing sentence remarked that 'no one could be ignorant of the callous insolence with which, on the very eve of arrest for this most infamous of crimes, the accused had been preparing to join his name with one honoured in his country's history, and to drag down to his own pitiable depths of depravity a lady of beauty, rank, and stainless reputation. The just censure of society, remarked the judge, 'is accorded to those so inconstant and intemperate that they must take their pleasures in the unholy market of humanity that still sullies the fame of our civilization; but for the traders themselves, these human vampires who prey upon the degradation of their species, socicty has reserved the right of ruthless suppression. So Paul was sent off to prison, and the papers headed the column they reserve for home events of minor importance with 'Prison for Ex‑Society Bridegroom. Judge on Human Vampires', and there, as far as the public were concerned, the matter ended.