"You do." Greville spread his hands. "Would I be less than truthful with you?"
The sheikh bowed. "Oh, undoubtedly, Sir Greville sahib, but on this occasion I will trust you."
The door opened and closed softly behind them as Rupert and Sir Jocelyn came in. Greville turned quickly, and sighed with annoyance. "I thought I made myself clear-" he began, but Sir Jocelyn interrupted quickly.
"We didn't want to be left out, dear boy; after all we too have bones to pick with March and Strickland," he said, placing his blanket bundle on the floor.
"Three against two is hardly cricket," Greville pointed out, looking curiously at the bundle.
Rupert grinned. "It will be two against two, because Sir Jocelyn is only here to umpire the proceedings."
Greville gave in. "Oh, all right, I don't suppose I have any real choice in the matter."
"None whatsoever, dear fellow," Rupert agreed, then rubbed his hands together eagerly. "What's the plan?"
"I haven't got one," Greville admitted. "My only thought was to get here and get my hands on those two reptiles."
Sir Jocelyn gave a chuckle. "Very laudable, I'm sure, but not the answer if we wish to be able to face our womenfolk again. So, sirs, allow me to make a few suggestions." He turned to the sheikh and pointed at the cologne bottles on the table. "Which of those smells most like civet cat?" he inquired.
The sheikh was offended. "Civet cat? I stock only the finest-!"
Sir Jocelyn wagged a reproving finger at him. "Come, now, sir. As I recall, you once dowsed me from that small yellow bottle, and I stank for two days."
"Well, I suppose that one may be a little strong," the sheikh conceded reluctantly.
"It's foul, and therefore ideal," Sir Jocelyn said, and pocketed the bottle. Then he looked at Greville and Rupert again. "Thrashing March and Strickland to within an inch of their miserable lives will make you both feel good in the meantime, but our dear ladies will not like it at all. The fair sex is of an inherently tender disposition, abhorring brutish behavior, and indeed that is why we adore them. But they do like to be able to giggle at their vanquished foes."
"Giggle?" Greville repeated in puzzlement.
Sir Jocelyn nodded. "March suffered considerable humiliation last night, but tonight you can make him a complete laughing stock. And Strickland too. Public ridicule is an excellent weapon. So, after giving them both the most bracing shampooing they've ever had, and sprinkling them with the essence of polecat, I suggest you resort to these." He pushed the bundle with his foot.
Greville bent to untie the blanket, and to his astonishment found that Sir Jocelyn had raided Evangeline's theater wardrobe for Malvolio's awful yellow stockings, Feste's jingling jester's hat, a pair of hose, party-colored in pink and silver and cut off at the knees, and the fearsome Henry VIII codpiece.
Sir Jocelyn chuckled again. "Just imagine the effect these will have on the Garsingtons' soiree musicale!"
Greville began to grin. "I think your plan is excellent, Sir Jocelyn. What do you say, Rupert?"
Rupert's eyes shone wickedly. "I say it is a splendid notion."
"I'm glad you think so." Sir Jocelyn tied the bundle again and lifted it from the floor, then he turned to the sheikh. " 'Lead on, Macduff!' " he said.
The sheikh raised an eyebrow. "I know my Shakespeare, Sir Jocelyn," he corrected. "The actual quotation is 'Lay on, Macduff.' "
"Is it, be damned? I didn't realize that," replied Sir Jocelyn. "Well, whatever, just do it."
The sheikh bowed, took some towels from the shelves, and led them upstairs.
Oliver and Ralph were relaxed and unguarded, and did not sense their imminent fate. After enjoying vapor baths, they were now languishing naked in their flannel tents, which were not anything like those that might be found at an army encampment, but were bags that were tied at the throat and had inward-facing "sleeves" into which the masseur slipped his arms in order to apply Oriental unguents. The room was very steamy indeed, with half a dozen tents, only two of which were occupied. While encased to the throat in flannel, Oliver and Ralph were very vulnerable indeed, and as bad luck would have it, their conversation had just turned to Sybil and Sophia, about whom they guffawed with laughter.
The door of the adjacent room burst open behind them, and Sigismund Garsington strode in with a towel tied around his plump middle. He was brandishing a pistol in either hand, and there was a wild expression on his round pink face. "So you find my sisters amusing, eh?" he bellowed, and leveled the pistols at the two men, whose laughter broke off in two squeaks of terror. But they couldn't escape, for they were too well tied in.
At that moment the sheikh ushered the others in as well, and Sigismund rounded upon them, barrels at the ready. The sheikh dropped the towels with shock and scuttled out, but Sir Jocelyn was equal to the moment, and stepped forward with an affable smile.
"Don't be hasty, there's a good chap, sir," he said to Sigismund.
"Hasty? Hasty?" cried Sigismund. "I am about to blast these two to kingdom come!"
Oliver and Ralph squeaked again, and their flannel tents trembled visibly.
Sir Jocelyn glanced at them. "They have offended you, sir?" he inquired of Sigismund.
"I heard them poking fun at my sisters."
"Ah. Well, sir, it may interest you to know that we have come here to, er, acquaint these same fellows with the extent of our disapproval."
"You have?" The pistols were lowered, but Oliver and Ralph still looked fit to expire of fright.
Sir Jocelyn came to put a tactful arm around Sigismund's pudgy shoulders. "Yes, we have," he said urbanely, "but our notion of suitable punishment differs a little from yours. Allow me to explain." He whispered what he had said to Greville and Rupert in the vestibule, and the held up the blanket bundle.
Sigismund's rage began to disappear, and his face lit up with a broad grin. "By gad, I like it!" he declared.
Sir Jocelyn cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "I haven't quite finished, sir. You see, we thought we would impose our victims upon the soiree musicale at Garsington House." He held his breath, wondering what the reaction would be. To his huge relief, Sigismund gave a grunt of approval.
"I see nothing wrong in that! I've been wriggling like a damned worm on a hook for years now because I'm expected to play that damned hautbois."
"You have?" Sir Jocelyn said in surprise, for he had always believed Sigismund to be a dedicated musician.
"Yes. That's why I came here this evening. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but I'm glad I did because they'll be chasing around like headless chickens wondering where I am."
"I had no idea," Sir Jocelyn murmured.
"To be honest, I've always wanted to play Sybil's harp, but the old pater and mater won't have it. They think I'll look like a prize daisy."
Sir Jocelyn choked back his laughter. "Indeed? How very fortunate," he managed to say.
Sigismund smiled again. "So it will serve them right if we, er, brighten things up a little, eh? Right, I'll take my dear brother-in-law, and leave you three to toss a coin for March!"
Greville insisted upon the right to deal with Oliver, and soon he and Sigismund went to work. Never had there been two less gentle masseurs, and never had there been two more cowardly victims. Oliver and Ralph squealed and yelled as the rough flannel showed no mercy to their recently steamed bodies. The squeals became howls when Sir Jocelyn poured the odoriferous cologne in around their necks, and the rubbing began all over again.
The craven pair were permitted out of the tents after five minutes, but if they thought they would be permitted to don their own clothes again, they were in error. Soon Oliver was togged in Feste's bell-bedecked hat, Malvolio's yellow stockings, and a towel to hide his modesty, and Ralph wore the knee-length hose and Henry VIII codpiece. They both looked utterly ridiculous, and Sigismund delightedly likened their aroma to that of a Newgate privy. Then, when he had dressed again, they all went downstairs.