In Spite of Thunder Read Online Free

why—”
    Again she stopped. The pronouncing of Brian’s name had a curious effect in that quiet street.
    The name meant nothing to Philip Ferrier; Philip merely nodded and entered the hotel. But it had a very definite meaning for someone else. On the opposite side of the street, in the shadow of the English Garden, a shortish and tubby man with an intent manner had been stumping along the pavement as though talking to himself. Here he stopped, peered round, and instantly crossed the road towards the Hotel Metropole.
    “Ha!” breathed the tubby man.
    He was the more striking a figure in that he wore a close-cut greyish beard and the sort of steeple-crowned hat which used to appear on figures of Guy Fawkes. This disreputable dark hat contrasted with full and formal evening-clothes.
    A flicker of heat-lightning paled and pulsed in the sky towards the lake. Audrey, for all her preoccupation, could not help staring at this newcomer.
    “Brian, look! The odd-looking man with the hat. He seems to be coming straight over here!”
    “So he does. Your odd-looking man, though, isn’t in the least odd; and he’s got a good reason for everything he does. That’s Gerald Hathaway.”
    “ Sir Gerald Hathaway? ”
    “In person.”
    “But what does he want here? What’s he doing in Geneva so soon?”
    “I haven’t any idea. All the same … you remember I said there were two English guests at Berchtesgaden on the famous occasion? Two guests, that is, besides Eve Eden and Hector Matthews?”
    “Well?”
    “One was Hathaway. The other was some newspaperwoman named Paula Catford. Ever since you mentioned Hathaway, I’ve been wondering if history would repeat itself and Paula Catford would turn up too.”
    Another flicker of heat-lightning lifted beyond motionless trees. But they had no time to consider this. A voice called out from the door. Into the lounge, conspicuous in white dinner-jacket, strode Philip Ferrier.
    He did not resemble his father, Brian noted. The Desmond Ferrier of legend had been as long and lean as Brian himself, with a booming voice and deplorably frivolous ways. The son, at twenty-four, was stern and earnest to the verge of pompousness. He was also a trifle chunky. But Philip’s striking good-looks, from dark curling hair to classic profile and wide nostrils, carried an intense vitality.
    Audrey almost yearned at him.
    “Mr. F-ferrier, may I present Mr. Innes?”
    One glance, raking Brian with powerful scrutiny, had shown Philip he need fear no rival here. His hostility vanished.
    “How do you do?” he said. “Er—Aud and I are having dinner at the Richemond and then going on to a night-club. You won’t mind if we push off now?”
    “No, not at all.”
    “Thanks. We’re very late.” Relief whistled through the wide nostrils. “I’m late, Aud, and I apologize. Our two geniuses have been throwing fits of temperament again.”
    “Phil, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. It’s not fair!”
    Philip bit his lip.
    “Maybe it’s not. I dunno. I’m fond of the old man and of Eve too. But you don’t have to nurse ’em.”
    Whereupon something new, something intensely human and very likeable, peered out from an apparent stuffed-shirt. Worry surrounded Philip Ferrier like an aura.
    “The trouble is,” he said, “that you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t real. They can’t tell either; they don’t know. Stage-people! Screen-people! You’re not connected with the stage or the screen, sir?”
    “Not in any way.” Brian laughed. “Do I look as though I were?”
    “Well, no,” Philip said seriously. “But there’s something about you: what is it? Anyway,” and he made a gesture and turned back to Audrey, “now that they’re both writing their reminiscences, and trying to beat each other to a publisher, and getting out their books of press-cuttings at every other word, it’s quite a wing-ding.”
    “I—I daresay it is,” Audrey agreed.
    “You bet it is. See what James