A Holiday Task
Kenelm Jerton entered the dining-hall of the GoldenGalleon Hotel in the full crush of the luncheon hour.Nearly every seat was occupied, and small additionaltables had been brought in, where floor space permitted,to accommodate latecomers, with the result that many ofthe tables were almost touching each other. Jerton wasbeckoned by a waiter to the only vacant table that wasdiscernible, and took his seat with the uncomfortable andwholly groundless idea that nearly every one in the roomwas staring at him. He was a youngish man of ordinaryappearance, quiet of dress and unobtrusive of manner, andhe could never wholly rid himself of the idea that afierce light of public scrutiny beat on him as though hehad been a notability or a super-nut. After he hadordered his lunch there came the unavoidable interval ofwaiting, with nothing to do but to stare at the flower-vase on his table and to be stared at (in imagination) byseveral flappers, some maturer beings of the same sex,and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to carry off thesituation with some appearance of unconcern he becamespuriously interested in the contents of the flower-vase."What is the name of these roses, d'you know?" heasked the waiter. The waiter was ready at all times toconceal his ignorance concerning items of the wine-listor menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific nameof the roses."Amy Sylvester Partinglon," said a voice at Jerton'selbow.The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressedyoung woman who was sitting at a table that almosttouched Jerton's. He thanked her hurriedly and nervouslyfor the information, and made some inconsequent remarkabout the flowers."It is a curious thing," said the young woman, that,"I should be able to tell you the name of those roseswithout an effort of memory, because if you were to askme my name I should be utterly unable to give it to you."Jerton had not harboured the least intention ofextending his thirst for name-labels to his neighbour.After her rather remarkable announcement, however, he wasobliged to say something in the way of polite inquiry."Yes," answered the lady, "I suppose it is a case ofpartial loss of memory. I was in the train coming downhere; my ticket told me that I had come from Victoria andwas bound for this place. I had a couple of five-poundnotes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or anyother means of identification, and no idea as to who Iam. I can only hazily recollect that I have a title; Iam Lady Somebody - beyond that my mind is a blank.""Hadn't you any luggage with you?" asked Jerton."That is what I didn't know. I knew the name ofthis hotel and made up my mind to come here, and when thehotel porter who meets the trains asked if I had anyluggage I had to invent a dressing-bag and dress-basket;I could always pretend that they had gone astray. I gavehim the name of Smith, and presently he emerged from aconfused pile of luggage and passengers with a dressing-bag and dress-basket labelled Kestrel-Smith. I had totake them; I don't see what else I could have done."Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what thelawful owner of the baggage would do."Of course it was dreadful arriving at a strangehotel with the name of Kestrel-Smith, but it would havebeen worse to have arrived without luggage. Anyhow, Ihate causing trouble."Jerton had visions of harassed railway officials anddistraught Kestrel-Smiths, but he made no attempt toclothe his mental picture in words. The lady continuedher story."Naturally, none of my keys would fit the things,but I told an intelligent page boy that I had lost mykey-ring, and he had the locks forced in a twinkling.Rather too intelligent, that boy; he will probably end inDartmoor. The Kestrel-Smith toilet tools aren't up tomuch, but they are better than nothing.""If you feel sure that you have a title," saidJerton, " why not get hold of a peerage and go rightthrough it?""I tried that. I skimmed through the list of theHouse of Lords in 'Whitaker,' but a mere printed stringof names conveys awfully little to one, you know. If youwere an army officer and had lost your identity you mightpore over the Army List for months without finding outwho your were. I'm going on another tack; I'm trying tofind out by various little tests who I am not - that willnarrow the range of uncertainty down a bit. You may havenoticed, for instance, that I'm lunching principally offlobster Newburg."Jerton had not ventured to notice anything of thesort."It's an extravagance, because it's one of the mostexpensive dishes on the menu, but at any rate it provesthat I'm not Lady Starping; she never touches shell-fish,and poor Lady Braddleshrub has no digestion at all; if Iam her I shall certainly die in agony in the course ofthe afternoon, and the duty of finding out who I am willdevolve on the press and the police and those sort ofpeople; I shall be past caring. Lady Knewford doesn'tknow one rose from another and she hates men, so shewouldn't have spoken to you in any case; and LadyMousehilton flirts with every man she meets - I haven'tflirted with you, have I?"Jerton hastily gave the required assurance."Well, you see," continued the lady, "that knocksfour off the list at once.""It'll be rather a lengthy process bringing the listdown to one," said Jerton."Oh, but, of course, there are heaps of them that Icouldn't possibly be - women who've got grandchildren orsons old enough to have celebrated their coming of age.I've only got to consider the ones about my own age. Itell you how you might help me this afternoon, if youdon't mind; go through any of the back numbers of CountryLife and those sort of papers that you can find in thesmoking-room, and see if you come across my portrait withinfant son or anything of that sort. It won't take youten minutes. I'll meet you in the lounge about tea-time.Thanks awfully."And the Fair Unknown, having graciously pressedJerton into the search for her lost identity, rose andleft the room. As she passed the young man's table shehalted for a moment and whispered:"Did you notice that I tipped the waiter a shilling?We can cross Lady Ulwight off the list; she would havedied rather than do that."At five o'clock Jerton made his way to the hotellounge; he had spent a diligent but fruitless quarter ofan hour among the illustrated weeklies in the smoking-room. His new acquaintance was seated at a small tea-table, with a waiter hovering in attendance."China tea or Indian?" she asked as Jerton came up."China, please, and nothing to eat. Have youdiscovered anything?""Only negative information. I'm not Lady Befnal.She disapproves dreadfully of any form of gambling, sowhen I recognised a well-known book maker in the hotellobby I went and put a tenner on an unnamed filly byWilliam the Third out of Mitrovitza for the three-fifteenrace. I suppose the fact of the animal being namelesswas what attracted me."Did it win?" asked Jerton."No, came in fourth, the most irritating thing ahorse can do when you've backed it win or place. Anyhow,I know now that I'm not Lady Befnal.""It seems to me that the knowledge was rather dearlybought," commented Jerton."Well, yes, it has rather cleared me out," admittedthe identity-seeker; "a florin is about all I've got lefton me. The lobster Newburg made my lunch rather anexpensive one, and, of course, I had to tip that boy forwhat he did to the Kestrel-Smith locks. I've got rathera useful idea, though. I feel certain that I belong tothe Pivot Club; I'll go back to town and ask the hallporter there if there are any letters for me. He knowsall the members by sight, and if there are any letters ortelephone messages waiting for me of course that willsolve the problem. If he says there aren't any I shallsay: 'You know who I am, don't you?' so I'll find outanyway."The plan seemed a sound one; a difficulty in itsexecution suggested itself to Jerton."Of course," said the lady, when he hinted at theobstacle, "there's my fare back to town, and my bill hereand cabs and things. If you'll lend me three pounds thatought to see me through comfortably. Thanks ever so.Then there is the question of that luggage: I don't wantto be saddled with that for the rest of my life. I'llhave it brought down to the hall and you can pretend tomount guard over it while I'm writing a letter. Then Ishall just slip away to the station, and you can wanderoff to the smoking-room, and they can do what they likewith the things. They'll advertise them after a bit andthe owner can claim them."Jerton acquiesced in the manoeuvre, and duly mountedguard over the luggage while its temporary owner slippedunobtrusively out of the hotel. Her departure was not,however, altogether unnoticed. Two gentlemen werestrolling past Jerton, and one of them remarked to theother:"Did you see that tall young woman in grey who wentout just now? She is the Lady - "His promenade carried him out of earshot at thecritical moment when he was about to disclose the elusiveidentity. The Lady Who? Jerton could scarcely run aftera total stranger, break into his conversation, and askhim for information concerning a chance passer-by.Besides, it was desirable that he should keep up theappearance of looking after the luggage. In a minute ortwo, however, the important personage, the man who knew,came strolling back alone. Jerton summoned up all hiscourage and waylaid him."I think I heard you say you knew the lady who wentout of the hotel a few minutes ago, a tall lady, dressedin grey. Excuse me for asking if you could tell me hername; I've been talking to her for half an hour; she - er- she knows all my people and seems to know me, so Isuppose I've met her somewhere before, but I'm blest if Ican put a name to her. Could you - ?""Certainly. She's a Mrs. Stroope.""Mrs.?" queried Jerton."Yes, she's the Lady Champion at golf in my part ofthe world. An awful good sort, and goes about a gooddeal in Society, but she has an awkward habit of losingher memory every now and then, and gets into all sorts offixes. She's furious, too, if you make any allusion toit afterwards. Good day, sir."The stranger passed on his way, and before Jertonhad had time to assimilate his information he found hiswhole attention centred on an angry-looking lady who wasmaking loud and fretful-seeming inquiries of the hotelclerks."Has any luggage been brought here from the stationby mistake, a dress-basket and dressing-case, with thename Kestrel-Smith? It can't be traced anywhere. I sawit put in at Victoria, that I'll swear. Why - there ismy luggage! and the locks have been tampered with!"Jerton heard no more. He fled down to the Turkishbath, and stayed there for hours.
A Holiday Task was featured as
TheShort Story of the Day on
Thu, Oct 02, 2014
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