The defaulter, tall, sharp of feature, with a waspish look about him, not unconnected with the colours of his costume, said, ‘No, sir. It is mine.’
‘Good God!’ said Prothero. ‘I know my own towel. Return it to me at once, sir!’
The other unconcernedly applied the towel to his left arm-pit. ‘You’re mistaken. This is mine. I left it hanging over the cubicle door.’
Plainly shaken by the confidence of the performance, Prothero looked to right and left to get his bearings. ‘But this is my cubicle and my green and white towel.’
‘Perhaps your memory is at fault. Look around you. There are at least a dozen towels hanging over doors.’
‘But none of them is green and white!’ said Prothero, just refraining from stamping a bare foot.
‘Exactly. You must have brought one of another colour with you. Easy to make mistakes about such unimportant things.’
Prothero stood like Alice in the presence of the Mad Hatter.
‘If someone has taken yours,’ the other advised him, ‘we should tell the attendant. I could lend you this one, of course, but it’s rather wet. Don’t stand there getting cold. Walk around the edge of the pool at a sharp step and you’ll be dry in no time. When I’m dressed I’ll speak to the attendant for you. Things like this shouldn’t be allowed to happen.’ He towelled his hair vigorously. ‘I don’t know what Brill’s is coming to when a man can’t leave his towel hanging over a door without some scoundrel helping himself to it.’
‘Would you believe me if my clothes were in the cubicle?’ Prothero appealed. ‘A silk hat and a frock-coat?’
‘That’s not all, I trust,’ said the man with the towel, ‘or you will feel a draught. Certainly have a look. We’re all liable to make mistakes. The door’s unbolted, you see. . Oh, my stars!’
‘There!’ said Prothero, vindicated by the contents of the cubicle. ‘Now perhaps you will kindly return my towel.’ The satisfaction of confounding such arrant self-righteousness quite made up for the state of the towel.
‘How can I begin to apologise?’ said the other. ‘My own towel must have been taken-or did I leave it inside the cubicle? Good Lord, sir, I’m cut to the quick. Mortified with shame. It must be the circular shape of the building, you see. Lost my bearings.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Prothero loftily.
‘But it does. The things I said. You must allow me to stand you a meal. If you don’t, I shall never be able to hold my head up again.’
‘It isn’t necessary.’
‘My name’s Cribb. Shall we go to Mutton’s?’
‘Prothero-Dr. Prothero. There is really no need-‘ ‘I’ll find my cubicle and see you in a few minutes. The least I can do.’
So Sergeant Cribb presently sat with the doctor at a central table in Mutton’s main dining-room, a monument to the glazier’s craft, with mirrors along every wall, a domed skylight and chandelier above them and statuettes and wax flowers encased in glass on a buhl cabinet at one end. A third place was reserved for Prothero’s son, after the doctor explained that they had arranged to meet there.
‘There are just the two of you in Brighton, then?’ Cribb ventured.
‘Guy and myself, yes. My wife and younger son were here until Sunday, but they had to return to Dorking prematurely. The child was unwell.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Some childish malady, I expect?’
‘Oh, yes. I think the food upset him, or the change of air. He is not yet three. I told my wife to let the nursemaid take Jason home, but she was most insistent on going with them. It is her first child and she is devoted to it. Shall we order? Guy won’t object, I’m sure. He is late, anyway-throwing an eye over the fillies in the King’s Road, I shouldn’t wonder. The two-legged ones. Are you here for the season, Mr. Cribb?’
‘No, no. Business brings me to Brighton. What will you order, Doctor? I believe the turtle soup is just about obligatory.’ When the waiter had gone, he said, ‘I arrived here only two days ago. Missed the return of the regiment. Did you see them?’
‘A stirring sight,’ said Prothero. ‘First-rate band, too. I don’t think there was a soul left on the beach on the morning of the march-past. Are you a military man, Mr. Cribb? There’s something of the soldier in your bearing.’
‘Yes, I took the shilling in my time. Served a few years until the home comforts began to beckon. Did you get to the ball at the Dome? I suppose you wouldn’t have been invited, not being resident in the town.’
‘As a matter of fact, I was,’ Prothero said, in a voice that suggested Cribb was making unwarranted assumptions again. ‘It was the outstanding night of the season. Everyone was there.’
‘How splendid! It must have made a fitting climax to your wife’s holiday.’
‘My wife was not present.’
‘Oh. You took your son?’
‘A friend. Guy has not enough manners yet for these occasions. My wife does not attend evening engagements for reasons of health. She is of a nervous disposition. Ah! Here comes the boy.’ He signalled with a table-napkin. ‘He’s somewhat short on the social graces, Mr. Cribb, as you’ll presently see. Had a rather narrow upbringing. I blame the school.’
Guy was wearing his red blazer. ‘I thought we were taking lunch alone,’ he told his father, with the merest glance at Cribb, who had stood to receive him.
‘Mr. Cribb, this is my elder son, Guy.’
Cribb extended his hand. Guy produced his snuff and charged each nostril, ignoring the sergeant.
‘Mr. Cribb met me in Brill’s-‘ ‘In circumstances too embarrassing to recall,’ said Cribb, putting down his hand. ‘I’m standing the lunch. Order whatever you wish.’
In a few minutes they were all busy with soup-spoons.
‘Have you left school?’ Cribb inquired conversationally.
‘Ask him,’ said Guy.
‘It’s a sensitive point at the moment,’ Prothero explained. ‘Guy has left one school and is about to start at another.’
‘A boarding establishment?’
‘Yes. This is by way of a farewell holiday. He starts in two weeks.’
‘Where is the school?’
‘He won’t tell you where it is while I’m here,’ Guy informed Cribb, ignoring his father. ‘He doesn’t want me to know. I’m treated no better than Jason. I’ll have a sirloin steak next, cooked rare. It’s probably in the Outer Hebrides.’
‘Guy has a well-developed sense of humour which does not endear him to schoolmasters,’ said Prothero. ‘Or his family, on occasions.’
‘It’s true!’ said Guy. ‘When have you ever treated me with anything but suspicion? You’re fearful all the time that I’ll embarrass you and your quack theories. I can’t even come on holiday without being forbidden to bathe in the sea because you think it’s teeming with typhoid germs.’
‘My quack theories, as you term them, are supported by a substantial correspondence in The Lancet, my boy,’ retorted Prothero. ‘Any other lad in your condition would be grateful that he had a doctor for a father. He suffers from asthma, you know,’ he added, for Cribb’s information, ‘and I have made the disease my life’s work. Don’t so lightly dismiss the efforts I have made to alleviate your attacks, Guy.’
‘How can I, when I have a bruise on my arm as big as half a crown to remind me? That’s a father’s loving care for you. I began to wheeze a bit on Sunday,’ Guy told Cribb, ‘so he gave me an injection of atropine. He might be a specialist on asthma, but he handles the needle like a punt-pole.’
‘How long do you expect to be in Brighton, Mr. Cribb?’ asked Prothero, in a way that indicated that so far as he was concerned the insults had gone far enough.