“But the chances are still three to one that it came from the Colony.”
There was a hint of reproof in her voice as she said,
“I think it would be fairer to say through instead of from.”
CHAPTER XXI
As Miss Silver walked down towards the station to wait for her bus she reflected gravely upon the conversation which she had just had with Frank Abbott. It had not clarified anything, it had not led them anywhere, but it had certainly added to the apprehension with which the whole situation inspired her. She had the unpleasant sensation of trying to find her way in a fog. No sooner did a clue present itself than it petered out, any attempt to follow it resulting in confusion. Having started out to discover what had happened to Anna Ball, she found herself involved with Mrs. Craddock’s fears for the safety of her children.
And now, superimposed upon everything else, there was this business of the notes taken from the bank at Enderby Green. When she referred to what might be called the Craddock problem Frank had not given it very much attention. Three unruly children were enough to upset any boat, and as for the mushrooms-well, there was that close copy of the real thing, and anyone might be taken in by it. He remembered a correspondence about it in the Times, and the last word of the experts was that there was no certain test, but if you found the things growing near pine trees they were not mushrooms, and that was that. In the matter of the stolen notes, as she pointed out to him, once in circulation, any one of them might pass through a dozen hands before it was paid over Miss Weekes’ counter. But whether she regarded the problem of the Craddocks or the problem of the notes, a feeling of apprehension not only persisted but increased.
She was half way down the slope, when she heard footsteps behind her and a whispering voice said,
“Whither away, fair lady?”
Since she knew only one person capable of such a form of address, it was no surprise to find Augustus Remington at her elbow, looking a good deal less peculiar than usual. It could not be said that his clothes were like those of other people, but he no longer wore the blouse and corduroy trousers which he affected in the Colony, and beyond a certain flowing line and the fact that he wore a low-necked shirt, his garments approximated to those of the ordinary man. He was bare-headed, and his long lint-white hair lifted in the breeze.
Miss Silver said soberly,
“I am catching the five o’clock bus.”
The slender hands gestured.
“I also. A deplorable necessity. These mechanical inventions defile the purity of country life.”
It had never occurred to Miss Silver that life in the country was particularly pure, but she refrained from saying so.
“The smell-” said Augustus Remington, his whisper becoming fainter. “The noise-I am quite terribly susceptible to noise. The ruthless, inexorable grinding of the-ah, gears. I am entirely ignorant of these hideous mechanical contrivances, but I believe I am right in supposing that there are such things. As I have just said, a painful convenience, an outrage upon every artistic sense, but a present necessity. You have been shopping?”
“I have been having tea with a friend.”
“And I in pursuit of beauty.” He gave a little giggling laugh. “But you must not misunderstand me. I refer to that abstract beauty which is the guiding star of art, and in this case it led me to what I have been seeking vainly for many weary weeks. I have been impeded, obstructed, frustrated, but today my struggles have been crowned with success. Without any volition of my own I found myself entering a little shop in the Square. The old beams exuded an aroma of the past-there were strange whisperings in the walls. A young girl served me, blooming and unimaginative as a cabbage rose. She had a hideous accent-she had been eating peppermints. She laid a tray of embroidery silks before me, and there, at last, was the shade I had been seeking-one of those fainting hues which resemble the haunting of a rose that has died in the bud.”
They had by this time reached the bus. Since it was not due to start for another five minutes, there was still plenty of room inside, and it was therefore quite impossible to avoid sitting next to Mr. Remington, who continued to discourse in a manner which Miss Silver found very trying to her patience. A little before five o’clock Miss Gwyneth Tremlett got in, and quite at the last minute a large young man with a suit-case stepped on board and, making his way to a vacant seat at the very front of the bus, sat down and stared gloomily at the driver’s back.
Miss Silver recognized him at once, and she may be forgiven for an exasperated feeling that he was, in his own person, the proverbial last straw. There was, however, nothing she could do about it. The engine started, the bus quivered and leapt forward. Augustus Remington gave her a running commentary on the sensations which this induced. His voice fell, now fading into inaudibility, and now recurring to a full-blown whisper. Miss Silver had no attention to spare for him. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Peter Brandon’s head, and her mind was quite taken up with annoyance that he should have followed Thomasina to Deep End and speculations as to how soon he could be induced to go away.
As they continued their progress in the direction of Deeping, the passengers thinned out, the largest number getting off at Ledhill, once a country village but rapidly becoming industrialized. There being now a vacant seat just across the gangway, Miss Gwyneth Tremlett took the opportunity of moving into it, and was affectionately greeted by Mr. Remington.
“Ah, now-how much better this is! I have been asking myself what have we done that we should be ostracized.”
Miss Gwyneth bridled in a pleased sort of way.
“Really, Augustus-don’t be so absurd! You can’t have been noticing, or you would have seen that I took almost the only seat which happened to be empty.”
He heaved an ostentatious sigh.
“I have a very sensitive soul. The least breath of coldness from a friend, and I am not well. Last week when you were vexed with me I had to take three aspirins. And then today I was already suffering. I yield to no one in admiration for our Peveril, and I know that you and Elaine do not like to hear a word against him, but I cannot pretend that I do not feel hurt when he drives his car into Ledlington and drives it back again without so much as thinking of offering any one of us a lift.”
Miss Gwyneth sat up rather straight. She wore a shapeless green coat and a great many scarves, one in orange and purple stripes over her head, and two or three others in varying shades about her neck and shoulders. As she talked, the ends kept poking out and having to be tucked in again. She said rather abruptly,
“But Peveril wasn’t in Ledlington.”
Augustus Remington’s whisper took on a purring note.
“My very dear Gwyneth, of course he was. He had parked his car in the Market Square -I saw it at once when I came out of my little dark shop. But you don’t know about that. It was Miss Silver that I was confiding in. My dear, at last I have attained the object of my search-the exquisite shade which had eluded me for so long that I had begun to despair of finding it. It glowed like a jewel in the little dark place! And when I came out, there was Peveril’s car. Remembering that I had confided my intention of visiting Ledlington this afternoon, I could hardly fail to be wounded. Or do you think I could?”
Miss Gwyneth, aware that she also had told Peveril that she was going into Ledlington, could do no better than to say with some bluntness,
“If he had wanted us to come with him, I suppose he would have suggested it.”
“Dear Gwyneth! How well you put it! If he had wanted us he would have asked us. So simple, so direct, so entirely to the point! Since he did not ask us, he did not want us. An inescapable inference. The whole wounding truth packed into the fewest possible words. Only those endowed with the supreme wisdom of common sense have courage enough to achieve such clarity. For myself, I am a creature of emotion. I cannot analyse, I can only feel. When a cold wind passes over me I shrink and I am silent.”