Loser Takes Al

But now at last I was really absorbed. I have never been able to understand the layman’s indifference to figures. The veriest fool vaguely appreciates the poetry of the solar system—“the army of unalterable law”—and yet he cannot see glamour in the stately march of the columns, certain figures moving upwards, crossing over, one digit running the whole length of every column, emerging, like some elaborate drill at Trooping the Colour. I was following one small figure now, dodging in pursuit.

“What computers do General Enterprises use, sir?”

“You must ask Miss Bullen.”

“I’m certain it’s the Revolg. We gave them up five years ago. In old age they have a tendency to slip, but only when the 2 and the 7 are in relationship, and then not always, and then only in subtraction not addition. Now, here, sir, if you’ll look, the combination happens four times, but only once has the slip occurred…”

“Please don’t explain to me, Mr Bertrand. It would be useless.”

“There’s nothing wrong except mechanically. Put these figures through one of our new machines. And scrap the Revolg (they’ve served long enough).”

I sat back on the sofa with a gasp of triumph. I felt the equal of any man. It had really been a very neat piece of detection. So simple when you knew, but everyone before me had accepted the perfection of the machine and no machine is perfect; in every join, rivet, screw lies original sin. I tried to explain that to Dreuther, but I was out of breath.

“How very interesting, Mr Bertrand. I’m glad we have solved the problem while Sir Walter is satisfying his carnal desires. Are you sure you won’t have a glass of milk?”

“No thank you, sir. I must be getting back to the ground floor.”

“No hurry. You look tired, Mr Bertrand. When did you last have a holiday?”

“My annual leave’s just coming round, sir. As a matter of fact I’m taking the opportunity to get married.”

“Really. How interesting. Have you received your clock?”

“Clock?”

“I believe they always give a clock here. The first time, Mr Bertrand?”

“Well…the second.”

“Ah, the second stands much more chance.”

The Gom had certainly a way with him. He made you talk, confide, he gave an effect of being really interested—and I think he always was, for a moment. He was a prisoner in his room, and small facts of the outer world came to him with the shock of novelty; he entertained them as an imprisoned man entertains a mouse or treasures a leaf blown through the bars. I said, “We are going to Bournemouth for our honeymoon.”

“Ah, that I do not think is a good idea. That is too classical. You should take the young woman to the south—the bay of Rio de Janeiro…”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t afford it, sir.”

“The sun would do you good, Mr Bertrand. You are pale. Some would suggest South Africa, but that is no better than Bournemouth.”

“I’m afraid that anyway…”

“I have it, Mr Bertrand. You and your beautiful young wife will come on my yacht. All my guests leave me at Nice and Monte Carlo. I will pick you up then on the 30th. We will sail down the coast of Italy, the Bay of Naples, Capri, Ischia.”

“I’m afraid, sir, it’s a bit difficult. I’m very, very grateful, but you see we are getting married on the 30th.”

“Where?”

“St Luke’s, Maida Hill.”

“St Luke’s! You are being too classical again, my friend. We must not be too classical with a beautiful young wife. I assume she is young, Mr Bertrand?”

“Yes.”

“And beautiful?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Then you must be married at Monte Carlo. Before the mayor. With myself as witness. On the 30th. At night we sail for Portofino. That is better than St Luke’s or Bournemouth.”

“But surely, sir, there would be legal difficulties…”

But he had already rung for Miss Bullen. I think he would have made a great actor; he already saw himself in the part of a Haroun who could raise a man from obscurity and make him the ruler over provinces. I have an idea too that he thought it would make Blixon jealous. It was the same attitude which he had taken to the knighthood. Blixon was probably planning to procure the Prime Minister to dinner. This would show how little Dreuther valued rank. It would take the salt out of any social success Blixon might have.

Miss Bullen appeared with a second glass of milk. “Miss Bullen, please arrange with our Nice office to have Mr Bertrand married in Monte Carlo on the 30th at 4 a.m.”

“On the 30th, sir?”