CHAPTER 5

‘I tell you the man — Rex Mottram. He’d be in his element here.’

We had some difficulty in getting in touch with him; it was half an hour before the policeman in charge answered my bell. At last he consented, rather sceptically, to send a telephone message to the hotel where the ball was being held. There was another long delay and then our prison doors were opened.

Seeping through the squalid air of the police station, the sour smell of dirt and disinfectant, came the sweet, rich smoke of a Havana cigar — of two Havana cigars, for the sergeant in charge was smoking also.

Rex stood in the charge-room looking the embodiment indeed, the burlesque — of power and prosperity; he wore a fur-lined overcoat with broad astrakhan lapels and a silk hat. The police were deferential and eager to help.

‘We had to do our duty,’ they said. ‘Took the young gentlemen into custody for their own protection.’

Mulcaster looked crapulous and began a confused complaint that he had been denied legal representation and civil rights. Rex said: ‘Better leave all the talking to me.’

I was clear-headed now and watched and listened with fascination while Rex settled our business. He examined the charge sheets, spoke affably to the men who had made the arrest; with the slightest perceptible nuance he opened the way for bribery and quickly covered it when he saw that things had now lasted too long and the knowledge had been too widely shared; he undertook to deliver us at the magistrate’s court at ten next morning, and then led us away. His car was outside.

‘It’s no use discussing things tonight. Where are you sleeping.?’

‘Marchers,’ said Sebastian.

‘You’d better come to me. I can fix you up for tonight. Leave everything to me.’

It was plain that he rejoiced in his efficiency.

Brideshead Deserted