solutions to the problem. He would run away to sea. He rejected this almost immediately, for he felt sick on the top deck of a horse-drawn bus travelling very slowly, so he knew that he–or rather, his stomach–was not cut out for a nautical career. Should he pose as Mr. Dredge and say that he, Rookwhistle, had unfortunately just died? Intriguing though this solution was he was compelled to admit that it would require someone more skilled in the art of duplicity to achieve success.
It’s no good, he thought desperately, wiping his damp hands on his handkerchief, I shall just have to be firm with her. I shall point out that I am a young man making my way in the world, and that I cannot, at this stage, accept the responsibility of a strange woman. I will let her have the five hundred pounds and she must go But what if she bursts into tears and has hysterics or, worse still, what if she is drunk and turns belligerent? The sweat broke out on his brow at the thought. No, he must remain firm, kind but firm. Hoping that he would have the courage to be kind but firm when the moment arrived, Adrian resumed his pacing.
By midday he was in such a state of nervous tension that a leaf falling from a tree made him start uncontrollably. He had just decided that death would be preferable to this agony of waiting, when the dray turned into the road. It was an enormous dray, pulled by eight extremely exhausted-looking cart horses, and driven by a stout, choleric looking little man in a bright yellow bowler hat and a red and yellow check waistcoat. Idly, Adrian wondered what such an enormous dray could contain. The man in the yellow bowler was obviously nearing his destination, for he had pulled a piece of paper out of his waistcoat pocket and was comparing it with the numbers of the houses as he passed. Then to Adrian’s astonishment he pulled up his team of horses outside Mrs. Dredge’s house. What on earth, thought Adrian, had his frugal landlady been buying? The dray was large enough to contain almost anything. He walked down the road to where the driver was mopping his face with a large handkerchief.
“Good morning,” said Adrian, full of curiosity. The man settled his bowler hat more firmly on his head and gave Adrian a withering look.
“’Morning,” he said, brusquely, “if it is a good morning, which I, for one, doubt.”
“Are you . . . er . . . have you got something for this house?” enquired Adrian.
“Yes,” said the man, consulting the piece of paper in his hand. “Leastways, I got something for a Mr. Rookwhistle.”
Adrian jumped and broke out in a cold sweat. “Rookwhistle . . . are you sure?” he asked faintly. “Yes,” said the man, “Rookwhistle. Mr. A. Rookwhistle.”
“I am Mr. A. Rookwhistle,” quavered Adrian. “What . . .?”
“Ah!” said the man, giving him a malevolent look, “so you’re Mr. Rookwhistle, are you? Well, the sooner you collect your property, the sooner I’ll be ’appy.”
He stamped off round the back of the dray and Adrian, following him, found him struggling with the massive doors.
“But what have you got?” asked Adrian desperately.
By way of an answer the man threw back the great double doors and revealed to Adrian’s incredulous and horrified gaze a large, wrinkled and exceptionally benign-looking elephant.
3. THE SHOCKING ARRIVAL
“There she is,” said the carter, with satisfaction, “and she’s all yours.”
“It can’t be,” said Adrian faintly, “it can’t be mine . . . I don’t want an elephant.”
“Now look ’ere,” said the carter with some asperity, “I’ve travelled all night, see, to bring this ruddy animal to you. You’re Mr. A. Rookwhistle, therefore she’s your animal.”
Adrian began to wonder if the shocks he had already received that morning had unhinged his mind. It was bad enough having to cope with an acrobat, without finding himself suddenly saddled with, of all things, an elephant. Then, suddenly, he had