The Pendragon Legend Read Online Free PDF

seclusion that you feel your life to be uneventful. On the Continent, relations with women are considered to be what life is all about.”
    “Then I must repeat the words of Villiers de L’Isle-Adam: ‘Living? Our servants will do that for us.’”
    As we left the Savoy I found myself, under the influence of a great quantity of Burgundy, in a thoroughly buoyant mood. It just wasn’t true, I said to myself, that London is boring, and I congratulated myself on having met two such splendid young men. It was ridiculous to pass my days surrounded by books. One should live! And I meant this word in its Continental sense. A woman … even in London … would be good occasionally.
    At Maloney’s prompting we went on to a night club. These are places where you can actually drink all night, and we availed ourselves of the privilege. One whisky followed another, each withless and less soda. Osborne was sitting rather stiffly. The general ambience of the place clearly made him uncomfortable, but he was too proud to show it.
    Maloney had reached the high point of a yarn in which he had roped a Malay girl to a tree when, just at the crucial moment, ten of her uncles appeared brandishing their krises.
    We never discovered what followed, because he spotted a woman at a nearby table, roared out a loud greeting and abandoned us. I watched ruefully as he chatted to her on the friendliest of terms. She was very attractive.
    “Strange fellow, this Maloney,” said Osborne. “If I came across any of his stories in a book, I’d throw it away.”
    “Do you think any of it is true?”
    “Oddly enough, I believe a lot of it is. I’ve seen him do some quite unpredictable and crazy things—things that completely defy logic. If I may say so, this whole evening has been entirely typical, though I suppose I shouldn’t talk like this.”
    “Tell me, all the same. We Continentals are relatively so much less discreet, we reckon an Englishman can afford to let his hair down once in a while.”
    “Well, take this example. Yesterday, Maloney had no more than thruppence ha’penny in his pocket. For weeks, I am quite sure, it’s all he had in the world. And this evening he’s treated us like lords. It seems to me quite probable that last night he knocked someone down in a dark street. No harm intended, of course—he just wanted to prove that Connemarans can knock a man down with the best of them. Then he helped himself to the chap’s money, as a way of combining business with pleasure.”
    Maloney returned.
    “Would you gentlemen mind if my very old friend, Miss Pat O’Brien, joined us? She’s also from Connemara, which tells you all you need to know. She’s in the chorus at the Alhambra. A supreme artist.”
    “Delighted,” I said, perhaps too readily.
    But Osborne’s face was stiffer than ever.
    “Well … er … Much as I admire your compatriots—I’m a Celt myself, of the same stock—wasn’t the general idea supposed to be that this evening was for men only?”
    “My dear fellow,” said Maloney, “you’re the cleverest chap on earth and, upon my word, it brings tears to my eyes to think I have such a friend; but it really wouldn’t hurt you to spend ten minutes in female company once every few months. You’d certainly make some surprising discoveries. Not so, Doctor?”
    “Without question.”
    “Well, if you gentlemen insist,” returned Osborne, with a gesture of resignation.
    Maloney had already brought her.
    “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,” she proclaimed, and sat herself down with the smile of someone confident of having contributed her share of witty conversation. Given that it was still summer, I smiled dutifully at the remark. Osborne made no such effort.
    “Cheer up, young fella,” the girl said to him, raising her glass; and she sang a little song conveying the same basic idea.
    “I’ll do whatever I can,” Osborne solemnly declared.
    This Osborne is an idiot, I said to myself. The girl was