Chapter IV: Donohue’s Orders

The morning was young, and O’Hagan discussing rolls and coffee when Donohue announced Captain Haverley and Mr. Salter.

O’Hagan rose ceremoniously. He wore a slate-grey lounge suit, with a silver-grey plush French knot in lieu of a tie. This combination suits him admirably and affords Donohue great scope for discrimination in the selecting of a soft shirt to harmonise with the scheme.

Entered Haverley, accompanied by a tall and preternaturally thin gentleman who carried, a leather case. O’Hagan bowed coldly to the captain, and upon his companion turned the monocle.

“This,” he said frigidly, sweeping his hand toward Mr. Salter, “I assume to be your horse-whip?”

“Mr. Salter is my solicitor!” replied Haverley loudly. “I have decided that a public exposure is what you require! We have therefore——”

(O’Hagan pressed a bell.)

“—I say we have therefore called formally to advise you——”

(Donohue entered.)

“—That a police-court summons for drunken assault and——”

O’Hagan, waving monocle Salterward:

“Donohue, kindly see this person to the door.”

Mr. Salter, who was opening his brief-case looked up alarmedly.

“My solicitor,” shouted Haverley, who was rapidly losing control of himself, “is——”

“Donohue!”

Donohue bowed to Mr. Salter and held wide the door.

Salter: “Captain O’Hagan, as legal adviser——”

“_Donohue!_”

Donohue stepped forward and took up Mr. Salter’s case. Within his right arm he linked the left of Mr. Salter, and with the gentle firmness of a Milo of Crotona led him rapidly from the room. Came a quavering cry:

“You will pay dearly for this insult!”

Haverley, eyes aflame, bounded to the door. It was locked. He turned to where O’Hagan, lolling against the mantelpiece, studied the morning’s manœuvres through upraised glass.

“I do not,” explained O’Hagan icily, “allow solicitors in these chambers.”

Haverley leant back against the door, almost as though he were preparing for a spring. He was a man swept by a tornado of passion, and before its force he quivered and shook.

“The law is the weapon of churls,” continued O’Hagan. “You are a soldier—as I regret to remind you. Upon the table on your right are French foils, Italian rapiers, and three types of sabre. You clearly maintain your right to Lady Rundel’s society. I forbid you to see her again. We will settle the point.”

Haverley cleared his throat, and spoke huskily:

“You are a madman—and I will see that you are treated as such——”

“Before we commence,” added O’Hagan, taking up a writing-block, “we will each write a note to the effect that we were practising a new mode of mounted attack, and that the affair was an accident. One of these notes will afterwards be destroyed.”

“Open the door!” demanded Haverley, tensely.

Captain O’Hagan observed him with a kind of unpleasant curiosity.

“As a soldier, and as a gentleman, you cannot refuse, of course!”

“Open that door! Do you hear me? You are mad!”

O’Hagan swung the monocle, and smiled upon the rapidly-breathing Haverley with undisguised contempt.

“Captain Haverley,” he said, “Sir Roger Rundel is my friend; and whilst I live, any gay Lothario who seeks to gratify his vanity by compromising my friend’s wife shall find at least one obstacle in his path. You will either hand me a written undertaking to secure a transfer to the 5th, vice Captain Macklin, invalided—leaving for Burma on the 19th—or remove that obstacle. You quit this room upon no other condition.”

“Open the door!” roared Haverley, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth with animal fury. “Open the door! By God! I’ll clap you in custody before another hour has passed!”

“If you decline,” said O’Hagan, coldly, “I will ring for the door to be opened as you desire——”

Haverley drummed his right fist into the palm of his left hand and stamped upon the floor with his foot. He was literally gasping in his fury.

“—In order,” resumed the chilly voice, “that my man may thrash you. I offer you, for the last time, the satisfaction of a gentleman——”

“Damn your impudent speeches! Open the door!”

Captain O’Hagan pressed the bell.

The door opened so suddenly and violently as to precipitate Haverley forward into the room. He recovered himself, turned, and sprang with a cry upon Donohue.

(“Donohue,” O’Hagan has informed me, “is not of course an adept of the _Higher_ Arts of Jiu-Jitsu; but he has a pleasing proficiency in the more ordinary holds and falls.”)

Donohue, then, met the attack in a novel way. He received Captain Haverley in a loving embrace. Then, like a teetotum, Haverley was spun right-about, and held, purple-faced, eyes starting hideously, with his arms locked behind him by the human manacle of Donohue’s iron grip.

Donohue: “Yes, sir?”

“You have your instructions, Donohue,” said O’Hagan—and passing the inarticulate Haverley, strode out of the room.

—————