The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [44]
“But listen, Miss Brooks, my paper has put a lot of money into this story. I got to see that lair.”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” said Prunella, and she did.
“There were three huts,” she began, her eyes downcast, her hands folded, her voice precise and gentle as though she were repeating a lesson, “the smallest and the darkest was used as my dungeon.”
The journalist shifted uncomfortably. “Huts,” he said. “I had formed the impression that they were caves.”
“So they were,” said Prunella. “Hut is a local word for cave. Two lions were chained beside me night and day. Their eyes glared and I felt their foetid breath. The chains were of a length so that if I lay perfectly still I was out of their reach. If I had moved hand or foot . . .” She broke off with a little shudder . . .
By the time that Youkoumian returned, the journalist had material for another magnificent front-page splash.
“Joab has given orders to withdraw the snipers,” Prunella announced, after a whispered consultation with the Armenian. “It is safe for us to go.”
So they climbed into the little car and drove unadventurously back to Matodi.
VII
Little remains of the story to be told. There was keen enthusiasm in the town when Prunella returned, and an official welcome was organized for her on the subsequent Tuesday. The journalist took many photographs, wrote up a scene of homecoming that stirred the British public to the depths of its heart, and soon flew away in his aeroplane to receive congratulation and promotion at the Excess office.
It was expected that Prunella would now make her final choice between Kentish and Benson, but this excitement was denied to the colony. Instead, came the distressing intelligence that she was returning to England. A light seemed to have been extinguished in Azanian life, and in spite of avowed good wishes there was a certain restraint on the eve of her departure—almost of resentment, as though Prunella were guilty of disloyalty in leaving. The Excess inserted a paragraph announcing her arrival, headed ECHO OF KIDNAPPING CASE, but otherwise she seemed to have slipped unobtrusively from public attention. Stebbing, poor fellow, was obliged to retire from the service. His mind seemed permanently disordered and from now on he passed his time, harmlessly but unprofitably, in a private nursing home, working out hidden messages in Bradshaw’s Railway Guide. Even in Matodi the kidnapping was seldom discussed.
One day six months later Lepperidge and Bretherton were sitting in the Club drinking their evening glass of pink gin. Banditry was in the air at the moment for that morning the now memberless trunk of the American missionary had been found at the gates of the Baptist compound.
“It’s one of the problems we shall have to tackle,” said Lepperidge. “A case for action. I am going to make a report of the entire matter.”
Mr. Brooks passed them on his way out to his lonely dinner table; he was a rare visitor to the Club now; the petrol agency was uniformly prosperous and kept him late at his desk. He neither remembered nor regretted his brief popularity, but Lepperidge maintained a guilty cordiality towards him whenever they met.
“Evening, Brooks. Any news of Miss Prunella?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I heard from her today. She’s just been married.”
“Well I’m blessed . . . I hope you’re glad. Anyone we know?”
“Yes, I am glad in a way, though of course I shall miss her. It’s that fellow from Kenya who stayed here once; remember him?”
“Ah, yes, him? Well, well . . . Give her my salaams when you write.”
Mr. Brooks went downstairs into the still and odorous evening. Lepperidge and Bretherton were completely alone. The Major leant forward and spoke in husky, confidential tones.
“I say, Bretherton,” he said. “Look here, there’s something I’ve often wondered, strictly between ourselves, I mean. Did you ever think there was anything fishy about that kidnapping?”
“Fishy, sir?”
“Fishy.”
“I think I know what you mean, sir. Well some of us have been thinking, lately . . .”
“Exactly.”
“Not of course anything definite. Just what